Slytherin Savior
by SilentStardust
Summary: Chapter 11 up! Please R&R! Harry Potter goes to his first year at Hogwarts and is sorted into Slytherin! He becomes best friends with Draco Malfoy, finds a new father in Snape, and learns to stand up for himself in what he considers to be his new home.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Harry Potter goes to his first year at Hogwarts and is sorted into Slytherin! He becomes best friends with Draco Malfoy, after a little bullying of course, and learns to stand up for himself in what he considers to be his new home. Snape is a git, naturally, until he finally sees the error of his ways, which won't be for a while.

Chapter 1

_Diagon Alley August 1st:_

It was a bustling day in Diagon Alley. Witches, wizards, trolls, hags and other indeterminate species strolled down the paved walkways in a crowd that seemed almost overwhelming. There were vendors left and right, and even some in the center. It was mass chaos that was completely at home in the wizarding world: a place of magic, which was considered to be chaos defined.

Within all of this turmoil, one little boy, or not so little as he might exclaim, was patiently waiting for his robes to measured for his stay at his brand new school. This boy, Harry Potter, was very unlike other boys his age. As he waited he did not fidget, he was not loud, and he showed almost no curiosity to the outside world while under the sharp eyes of an adult.

Harry Potter stared at the ground as the nice Madam Malkin bustled around him humming to herself, her tape measure flickering around ears, his mouth, and even up one nostril! It was mildly disturbing, this magical world, but a reprieve from the cookie cutter hell of the Dursleys. Right now, anything, even a large amount of uncertainty, would beat that.

He wondered who that blonde haired boy had been. When Harry had walked into the shop with Hagrid, his escort for the day, the boy had been waiting for his robes to be finished. He also was unlike other boys his age. He also did not fidget and was not loud, but he was different from Harry in that he had held himself upright in a pose that simultaneously made Harry want to copy him and smack him senseless. Very confusing, that.

He had asked Harry a question while they both attempted to balance on the ridiculously tall stools, but before he could answer a man that looked to be almost an exact copy of the boy had taken him out of the shop.

Maybe he'd meet him at school.

_King's Cross, September 1st:_

Like Diagon Alley, King's Cross was just as busy. It had been an overwhelming experience for Harry, who had grown used to the quiet of the Dursleys and the near isolation at his primary. Mustering up the courage to not only slide through what he'd assumed to be a solid wall, and then to fight his way through the crowd to the train had taken almost all of his energy.

He wondered if he really wanted to go to this school if the magical world was always this scattered. But, if he didn't, well, what else could he look forward to? Day after day of chores, and other things that mad his life miserable and oh so mundane? He'd already taken the first big step. Might as well at least attempt to stick it out.

Harry sighed dismally as he sat in his empty compartment at the very back of the train. All of the others had at least had one occupant, and he desperately needed to regroup after facing the crowd. Absently, he adjusted the robes he'd thrown on as soon as the door was shut. It wouldn't do to look out of place after all. He wanted to start this journey right.

He gazed outside the window and watched as mothers and fathers hugged their children and gave them last minute reminders. He started to search the crowd for the blonde boy he'd met at Madam Malkin's, but gave up when he realized that the movement of the crowd prevented it. Shame. He should be able to meet him at the school still.

As he sat alone, he anxiously wondered if someone would disturb his newfound piece. Harry was relieved when the train began to pull out and no one had tapped on the door. As the London countryside began to flash by, he pulled out a textbook and attempted to prepare for his true introduction to the magical world.

_Hogwarts:_

Hogwarts was intensely beautiful, a fairytale castle that Harry had only ever thought about in his dreams. With towers, battlements, banners flying in the wind, beautiful stain glass windows on one floor, regular on the next, it was something that Harry could not believe. In fact, it was a dream that he had always believed could never happen to him. He vowed to make the most of it.

Stepping off the tiny boat with three other first years, Harry paused in place to gaze at the edifice in awe, his eyes blazing in the evening light. It almost seemed impossible, as if he could just touch it and it would all disappear before his eyes.

Vaguely, he noticed the other first years stopping to do the same, their excited voices traveling in the wind. Briefly, Harry turned his eyes from the castle to gaze at the grounds, which seemed to stretch on forever. Some part of it ended in what looked to be a forest, while another ended in a vast lake. Truly, he had never seen a place this large.

"Come along, first years!" Hagrid called the biggest person that Harry had ever seen in his life. He'd heard a few third years wondering if Hagrid was actually a giant, but they had never decided if he was full, half, or just pretending.

When Hagrid had rescued him from that rickety old hut on a rock to bring him his Hogwarts letter and escort him to Diagon Alley, Harry had felt so tiny. He knew that he was shorter than average, but this man made him feel like a baby. It was an odd sort of feeling that Harry would rather not feel at all.

As all the others formed a line and began to follow the large man, Harry dutifully fell at the end. As they walked, one of the other first years whose arrogant stance resembled the blonde boys was going on about "the other wizarding schools that were much more sophisticated than this one." He wondered why the other boy was not at one of those schools then if they were so much better.

It seemed as if no time had passed before they were standing in front of the ancient castle. The front doors loomed in front of them, even larger than Hagrid. Harry scowled, careful to keep his expression hidden from the others.

_I wonder if everything here will make me feel tiny_, he wondered.

The sound of the knocking upon the front doors echoed in the still night. The too still night, Harry noted, for even though they were not far from the nearby forest, there was no sound coming from it.

_It is as if the forest is waiting for something. Something important._

As they waited, Harry looked down at his bright shiny new shoes, his first pair ever, and the worn steps below them. Harry wondered how many other first years had stood in this exact same spot over the years. Slowly, the doors opened, revealing a large chamber with several hallways leading off it.

As the first years walked into the chamber, Harry saw a very stern-looking witch with steel-gray hair pulled into a tight bun, dark brown eyes that seemed somehow soft when they glanced his way, and a face only partially lined with age, as if she reached middle age and decided to end the process there.

She, like the first years, was wearing black robes, which only made her seem much taller than the students. Especially Harry. _Gee, whine much, Harry? Get over it already!_

_Great, even his conscience liked to mock him._

"Now," the witch stated. "I am Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor, one of the four houses of Hogwarts. In a moment, you will be sorted into Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin. Take heed and remember that your house will be your home for the next seven years.

Also, remember that it does not matter which house you will be sorted into, all houses are equal," she finished sternly, eyeing the first years who were nodding emphatically, hoping that she had finished her lecture. "Now, line up children. Make sure your robes are straight. Good? Follow me, then." The witch opened another set of doors, which lead into a large hall packed with students.

There were four long tables that stretched from one end of the hall and ended right before the head table, which held the professors of the school. Harry, at the last of the line, followed the other first years as they walked down the middle aisle before stopping a few feet from the professors.

Eyes wide, Harry gazed at the candles floating in midair above each table, and then turned his eyes upward to gape at the ceiling. He gasped in delight as he noticed that it looked exactly as the sky had looked outside. "I heard that it is bewitched to reflect the current weather," a girl was saying in a bossy voice.

"Wonder what that hat's doing there?" a red head with far too many freckles pointed out. Harry stood on his tiptoes at that in an effort to see, but was blocked by another student in front of him. He was about to ask one of the other first years to move when the entire hall suddenly quieted, as if told to by some invisible signal.

The silence seemed to stretch for eternity, especially with the eyes of the entire student body on the first years. Harry was about ready to duck down and find some hole to crawl into, when someone started to sing. It was not a very loud voice or a good one either; just one suited for the purpose of singing in the Great Hall.

As the song continued, Harry took the opportunity to watch the other students. He noted that at each table, the reactions were different. Some waited patiently, others had their noses in books, and still others were talking softly with friends, while the final table was giggling madly at something in the center of their table. Frankly, Harry was afraid to ask about the last one.

All too soon, the song was over and Harry was surprised when the students shifted enough to see a small, raggedy hat sitting on a little stool. That was it? A hat? Okay, he knew the wizarding world was different, but really…A hat?

Clearing her throat, Professor McGonagall snapped open a roll of parchment. "Let the sorting begin," she declared somewhat dramatically, before reading the first name on the list.

"Abbot, Hannah!"

A tiny, but still bigger than Harry, blonde haired girl timidly scampered out of the middle of the first year cluster, her shoes making squeaking sounds on the stone floor, and clambered up onto the stool. Harry brushed his hands down his brand new robes nervously. What was going to happen?

He watched as the hat was plopped unceremoniously on her head, almost covering her eyes. Craning his head around the cluster of first years, who were now whispering excitedly, Harry watched, squinting quite a bit with the effort, as the hat seemed to deliberate.

After a long moment, the brim on the hat opened wide, shouting "HUFFLEPUFF!" A table nearby burst into riotous applause, while the rest of the hall offered up almost mild applause for the first year. As soon as the hat was removed from her head, Hannah stumbled over to the table, where she was received merrily by the other Hufflepuffs.

And so the sorting went. After a time, the crowd thinned enough that Harry could stand up straight and watch as MacMillan, Ernie was sorted along with the rest. He dreaded when it would be his turn. What if the hat did not sort him? What if he was not good enough for the school? What if they had made a mistake by sending him all those letters?

The person who wrote all those would definitely be upset. Harry knew that he would. After all, even writing one very long essay for his other school always made his hand hurt. He couldn't really imagine the effort put into those. What if…?

"Potter, Harry."

Distantly, Harry noticed that the entire hall had gone silent. Nervously, he broke out into a cold sweat. It was his turn. Taking a few steps forward, he looked up into the eyes of the stern professor. Somewhat impatiently, she motioned for him to hurry up, so he clambered up onto the footstool.

That was a bad idea, really, because now he could see the hundreds of pairs of eyes that were staring at him. Then they disappeared into darkness as the hat covered his head. "Hmmm," a voice sounded in his ears, nearly making him fall off the stool in fright. "Let's see what we have here."

"Um, excuse me?" Harry asked timidly. "But, who are you?" "Who am I?" the hat asked in an offended tone. "Why, I just sang a song, that took me a whole year to compose by the way, telling you exactly who I am and what I do."

Harry swallowed and attempted to placate the Sorting Hat. "Well, you see…I was kind of nervous. And I listened to it, but I did not really understand what you had to do with it." "Well," the hat sniffed. "I suppose that is all right then," the hat said in a comforting tone.

"I am the Sorting Hat. I was given this job by Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders, shortly after the school opened." "Wow," Harry said, impressed. "You've been alive for a really long time." The hat sniffed. "Of course. Now, let us see where I should put you."

Suddenly, Harry saw memories begin to flash before his eyes. He saw the time when he was really little and he was locked outside in the rain during Dudley's fourth birthday party. He saw the first time his uncle used the belt…The first time he used his fists…

On and on it went until Harry was practically gasping for air. Soothingly, the hat hugged him close, sending waves of warmth through his mind and relaxing him little by little. "I am sorry child. I did not, for a second, think that it would frighten you so badly. Now," the hat said softly. "I promise my brim is closed. I will not tell anyone of your past unless you wish it, alright?"

Harry nodded, eyes squeezed shut in an effort to ignore the pain those memories evoked. Alright then," the hat stated, cheerful once more. "Let's see. Hufflepuff would not be a good place for you, I fear. You are loyal to a fault, but it is not your primary quality.

Hmmm…Ravenclaw would be a good choice, if you thirsted for knowledge sunrise to sunset. No, not for you, eh? Maybe Gryffindor with all its' bravery? No, you do not recklessly run headlong into danger. You do seem more focused on protecting yourself…

Then there is Slytherin. Do not be fooled by what you have heard, Slytherin is a home to all who need it. And I must say that I can see many qualities in you that Salazar Slytherin prized in his students. What do you say?" Harry blinked, surprised. "You mean I would fit in there?" he asked incredulously.

The hat chuckled. "I dare say you would! So, let it be SLYTHERIN! Oh, and just so you know," the hat whispered, "the letters are written magically. Welcome to the wizarding world." Blinking, Harry looked up into the face of Professor McGonagall, who had removed the hat and looked shocked beyond belief.

Harry vaguely noticed that no one clapped for him, and as the whispers began to rise he felt the dull flush of shame creeping onto his face. "Ma'am," he asked tentatively. "Where do I sit?" As soon as she pointed to a table against the far wall, Harry made his way quickly to it, his legs shaking.

When he finally collapsed into an empty seat next to the other first years, no one spoke to him and instead eyed him with varying looks of curiosity and slight disdain. Harry looked down at the empty gold plate in front of him and wondered if they kicked people out on the first day. He apparently had already made a muck of it, after all.

Maybe Hogwarts would not be his home after all.

End Chapter 1!

Please review!

Note: I will be revamping all of my chapters before adding a new one in a few weeks. Please stay tuned and let me know what you think of the changes!!! Also, please check out my new story, In the Cupboard.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The feast was extraordinary. Every kind of food that Harry had ever wanted to try lay before his eyes. However, he didn't know if he was allowed to have any of it. He briefly thought about trying a plain dish of soup, but when he hesitantly reached for the ladle one of the others snatched it from his hand, making sure to jostle his arm in the process.

Harry didn't dare try to reach out for anything else. Instead, he sat in silence, head bowed, hands folded in his lap, and bit his lip. He listened as carefully as he could as the others introduced themselves, and waited for the feast to end. After an extremely quiet hour for Harry, he rose and lined up with the other Slytherin first years by order of the prefect.

After Prefect Flint had assured himself that they were all present, he led them to their dorms. The surly looking fifth year led the way as they walked down into the dark dungeons that seemed to go on forever and were impossibly cold.

Harry shivered and wrapped his robes tighter around himself. If it was this cold now what would it be like in the winter? Down they went, further into the bottom of the school than Harry would have thought possible. As they moved further away from any windows, the last one revealed an underwater view of the lake; torches began to line the hallway.

The flickering shadows in the hallway made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. If he ever got lost in this winding maze, he'd probably never find his way out. There seemed to be no way to tell one corridor from another. He wondered how the older students did it.

_Maybe we get a map? _

Eventually they stopped in front of a large portrait with a gold frame. In the torchlight, it gleamed, looking almost gaudy.

Harry gazed at it, expecting to see something interesting, considering it was the only portrait in the corridor. However, there was nothing. The portrait was completely empty, except for a smooth black surface that rippled every so often.

Harry scratched his nose thoughtfully, wondering why exactly they would choose to have a portrait of nothing up on the wall. "Password," a bored, petulant voice asked, nearly startling Harry out of his wits. Anxiously, he peered around, but saw no one save the other first years and Prefect Flint.

"This," Flint stated in an imperious voice. "Is the entrance to the Slytherin common room. You will tell no one of this entrance," he continued menacingly, glaring at each one of them in turn.

Harry shuddered when those eyes turned on him, and hastily nodded. He was relieved when they swept onto the other first years.

_Note to self: Do not anger the prefect._

"To gain entrance you say the password, 'Amortentia,'" Flint stated. Dutifully, the first years repeated the word, then watched in awe as the portrait swung open, revealing a large room. One by one, they scrambled in, and when the portrait finally shut behind Flint, who practically pushed Harry through, he was finally able to see the entirety of the common room.

Over by one corner was a gigantic fireplace that nearly took up half of an entire wall; Harry could feel the warmth from where he was standing.

That wasn't at least too bad. When winter set in, he knew that it wouldn't be too bad in here, especially with the drafts that he could already feel. On the other walls were various portraits, spaced evenly between doorways.

There were what looked to be black leather couches everywhere, as well as many round wooden tables and chairs, all on top of large green rugs. It was a tad overdone, in his opinion, but not too bad. The entire color scheme, Harry noted, seemed to be black, green, and silver, Although to some, the decorations could be seen as impersonal, with no variety whatsoever, he instantly took a liking to them.

After all, he did have to live here for the next seven years.

Gazing at the others, Harry noted that all of them were looking around in awe, except for the blond boy, Malfoy, he remembered, who had pushed him down when he was getting off of the train. The other boy was looking around haughtily, as if everything was beneath him, including the prefect.

"Sit," Flint barked and watched gleefully as the firsties practically pushed each other over to take their spots on the couches. Except for Potter, he noted with a small frown, who immediately placed himself on the floor near the fireplace.

Smart choice, though, he thought reluctantly. The boy was so thin he looked as if he would snap in half in a gust of wind. The temperature must be killing him.

"In a few moments," he growled softly. "You will have a meeting with our head of house, Professor Snape, who will inform you of his expectations and rules. You will be respectful and silent," Flint warned, crossing his arms.

Automatically, Harry nodded. Rules. He could follow those. At home, he had plenty of rules. It would make this a lot easier if he knew what to expect at all times. This uncertainty was killing him. Best to get it all out in the open now.

A hidden door flung open with a bang, startling all the first years. With wide eyes, Harry watched as a tall man with dark eyes to match his hair, a crooked nose, and sallow skin swept into the room, robes billowing out behind him like some sort of bat.

Harry marveled at the fact that his feet made no sound, even though he was walking on stone. Briefly, he wondered if the man was a vampire, since he looked like the ones he'd seen on the telly. Shaking his head, Harry dismissed that thought, since the headmaster wouldn't hire a vampire.

Would he?

Professor Snape paused before them, sharp eyes taking in every detail of his newest Slytherins. When his eyes settled on Harry, easily the smallest of the group, his lip curled in disdain. "I am Professor Snape," he whispered softly.

"I am your Head of House. You are members of Slytherin, named after Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders," he continued silkily, noticing every movement the first years made. "You are part of the most prestigious house in the greatest school in Great Britain. You are considered the best and you shall act like it. Whether you want to or not," he threatened, eyes fixed firmly on Harry as he leaned back against the couch near the fireplace.

Harry shivered and hugged his knees to his chest. "During the school year, I expect you to behave in the proper manner befitting a Slytherin. Meaning, that you follow all rules. First, Slytherins always stick together against the other houses," the Professor intoned.

"Second, all arguments shall be conducted in the privacy of the dormitory, not in public. I do not care what you do to settle the disagreement, so long as no one is permanently injured." At this, several first years smirked predatorily.

"Third, you will adhere to the dress code. I will not accept any wrinkled robes, mussed hair," here his gaze landed on Harry, once again. "Or dirty faces or hands." Harry looked at everyone's perfectly groomed hair, perfect features, clean body, and swallowed. This was going to be difficult.

"Fourth, any points or detentions assigned from other professors will earn an additional detention with me." At this all the firsties eyes' widened. Flint smirked. Professor Snape sure knew how to scare his Slytherins into obedience.

"Slytherin has won the house cup seven years running and we will not surrender it to another house. Lastly, if you have issues or concerns that cannot be handled by the prefects then you are welcome to come to my office. Be warned, however, if it is not dire and I find that you have wasted my time, you will wish that you had never stepped foot into this school.

Now, you will be shown to your dormitories and will inform you of the other rules. The rest of this evening will be spent unpacking. I expect no disruptions," he sneered. "Will occur." With that, Snape turned and swept out of the common room, the portrait slamming shut behind him.

"Alright you lot," Prefect Flint barked. "Follow me." Harry gave a silent sigh as he quickly stood and followed the others. His head of house was so…odd…

-HP-HP-HP-HP-

The dorm was as grand as the common room. The floor was covered in a thick carpet that looked as if he could sink his toes into it. Aunt Petunia had a carpet like that in the formal sitting room. He'd never been allowed to touch it. The first and only time he had tried, she had mentioned something about dirt, before making him scrub head to toe in very hot water. Harry shook his head and put the memory out of his head.

The room was oval with beds spaced evenly between desks and small closets. As the others rushed to find beds, Harry waited awkwardly near the door until everyone had chosen what they considered to be the 'best' bed.

All in all, his bed was actually quite decent. Although the posts were scratched and the curtains looked as if they had been mended several times, it was much better than the dingy cot that he slept on. However, it was tall, tall enough that he would most likely have to jump in order to climb into the bed.

It was covered in a huge, thick comforter that more than made up for the ridiculous height. At the head of the bed were several thick pillows, that practically begged him to caress them. So, he did. At a snicker from Blaise Zabini, a dark eyed, dark haired boy whose family was Italian, he quickly removed his hand from one of the pillows.

Pretending disinterest, he walked over to his trunk, placed at the foot of the bed. He wondered if they had made a mistake, giving him such a nice bed. At home, he had been given a perfectly nice cupboard, with room for both his bed and his clothes. According to his uncle, this was more than good enough for his eight hours of uselessness a day.

Harry opened the trunk, making sure to shield the meager contents from the others' view. He'd only bought the items on the equipment list, since he had not wanted to spend too much money. Also, he had been too embarrassed to let Hagrid know that he did not have such basic items as pajamas, slippers, and regular clothes.

This had resulted in only a quarter of his trunk being filled. He had realized how abnormal this was on the train when he noticed that all the other students had trunks that were full to bursting. One older boy on the train had been forced to sit on his trunk to get it closed, with the help of two other boys, of course.

As quickly as he could Harry emptied the contents of his trunk into the small closet by his bed. The two pairs of Muggle clothes that he owned were quickly folded and put in one of the drawers. The five sets of robes and uniforms were carefully hung up, except for one. The last set he carefully laid on his chair, along with his single pair of dress shoes.

Satisfied, Harry nodded. There, he was all set for tomorrow. He was done long before the others, which gave him the perfect opportunity to take a shower. Hastily, he grabbed his shower kit, which consisted of his three-year old toothbrush, a small sliver of soap, an ancient rag, a ratty old towel, and a set of Muggle clothes.

Those had been grudgingly given by his uncle, who had been in an extremely good mood.

-HP-HP-HP-HP-

The bathroom for the first years was just off the dorm, and was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. Along one wall were a series of sinks, followed by shower stalls on the next wall, and toilets on the other wall. The final one held a series of portraits of herbs. Harry looked at them curiously. Why on earth would there be portraits of herbs in the bathroom?

He shrugged it off and headed to the shower stall by one of the corners. Deciding not to test his luck by hanging his clothes up on the hook placed on the outside of the stall, he took his clothes inside with him. Harry stripped quickly, carefully hanging his clothes just so in order to prevent them from falling into the stall.

He refused to look down at his scrawny-scarred body, and instead looked for a place to set his soap. He almost dropped it in surprise when he noticed the many bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash lining the stall.

His wide eyes took in the bottles, and for a few seconds he contemplated actually using one of them, rather than his bit of soap. But they probably weren't actually for his use…

Harry shook his head and decided to ignore them, choosing instead to turn on the shower. He glanced around for the standard knobs found in all Muggle bathtubs, but instead found a large silver button.

He looked at it in confusion and scratched his nose. Well, that was new. Harry shrugged and pressed it, expecting a stream of cold water. He was pleasantly surprised, however, to find that it was hot, almost scalding. It was the temperature he had always wanted his showers to be. Not the tepid bathwater, very cold water, or scalding to the point of burning water his aunt tended to use depending on her mood.

Harry bit his lip. He wasn't really supposed to have the temperature that he liked after all. He should change it. Pressing the same button, however, did nothing. The wonderful temperature didn't change or turn off. He tried banging on it, twisting it, even stepping outside of the shower. However, nothing happened. Defeated, he slumped against the wall.

It had to be charmed, thought sarcastically. He didn't want to get made fun of if he did not take a shower. After all, nothing was worse than being unhygienic. So, he resolved to take his shower quickly. It was probably the fastest shower in history, Harry mused as he tried to dry himself off. He'd scrubbed so quickly that he'd probably missed a few spots.

Dropping the ratty old towel in disgust, Harry threw his clothes on and gathered his belongings.

-HP-HP-HP-HP-

The others laughed at the site he made, in clothes several sizes too big, wet dripping hair, no socks or slippers, and large puddles forming behind him as he walked. Harry flushed in shame, but stepped over to his bed, put his belongings away, and then climbed in and shut the curtains.

As he lay there in the darkness he heard them making fun of his hair, his glasses, and his clothes. Especially his clothes. He felt a tear come to his eye as he snuggled further into the warm comforter, but quickly wiped it away.

He wasn't supposed to cry. Ever. No matter how bad it got. No more tears came, but as the boys laughed and got ready for bed, he wondered if the pain would ever stop.

End of Chapter 2!

Please review! All comments are welcome and appreciated! Thanks to all those who did!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own HP!

A/N: _Italics:_ _People thinking to themselves_

"….": Dialogue

Please read and review.

**Chapter 3**

Harry's first full day as a Slytherin started out very wet and cold. Gasping, Harry shot up in bed as the several gallons of ice-cold water cascaded over his head and down his body. He shivered in the sudden cold before glaring at the other boys. "Told you it would work!" Zabini exclaimed as he smirked at the pitiful figure.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Only after you asked me what the spell was," he said flatly. "Twice." Malfoy turned to him and glared, his neatly pressed robes billowing around him. "You need to wake up earlier, Potter. We don't tolerate laziness." And with that, he flounced out the door to the common room, closely followed by the others.

Harry shivered and hugged his knees to his chest in dejection. _What a way to start the morning. At least I could tolerate Dudley's wakeup call. After all, what's a few pounds of dust compared to feeling like he just jumped into a lake?_

Belatedly he realized that at the door Prefect Flint had been watching the entire scene impassively with his arms folded across his chest. Harry wondered why he actually felt a pang in his chest from that realization.

Harry sat there for a bit, trying to come to terms with this new way of life, when he suddenly realized that he was most likely going to be late. This became a fact when he checked the time by glancing at a clock Crabbe had put on his bedside table. Unlike normal clocks, this one didn't exactly tell the time by numbers. Instead, it told you where you ought to be and when. This one stated that if he didn't hurry he was 'going to be extremely late to breakfast.'

Harry groaned before scrambling across the bed to grab the outfit he'd laid across his chair last night, a habit ingrained into him from early childhood. He swiped at his chair as his feet thudded to the floor only to come up with air. Frowning in confusion, Harry glanced at the chair only to freeze in shock. His clothes were not there. The first new clothes that he had were not there.

Harry fought the feeling of rising panic, very aware that breakfast was due to start soon, and if he didn't hurry he would be late… He searched desperately around the room, under and on top of his bed, in his bed, around his desk, and through every nook and cranny, but found nothing. He glanced once more at the time and decided that he would look for it later.

He threw himself into his closet and grabbed the next uniform hanging neatly on the rack, threw it on, as well as his only other pair of shoes, his Muggle trainers that were scuffed and several sizes too big. They were also a rather ugly yellow, but he tried not to remember that fact.

He reached under his desk and grabbed his bag, which was thankfully still full of his books, as well as containing his wand, and ran out of the doorway into the common room.

Prefect Flint, as well as the first years were there, and at his entrance they stared at him with cool disdain. Without saying a word, Flint swept out of the common room, closely followed by the others. Harry attempted to join the middle of the line, but was quickly shoved to the back. He flushed with shame, but climbed out of the portrait hole and followed.

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

Breakfast was much the same as the previous evening, so Harry remained still and silent until the timetables were passed out. Upon receiving his, Harry looked over the sheet, his eyes wide as he attempted to determine what the subjects actually were. "Oh, look," Malfoy drawled, successfully drawing the attention of the first years. "Almost every class is with the Gryffindorks. I can't believe the headmaster approved this."

Pansy Parkinson, a little slip of a girl whose voice was similar to the shriek of a banshee, gazed at him adoringly. "You're right, Draco," she breathed, eyes wide, her hands slowly coming up to wrap around one of his arms. Between one breath and the next, she also managed to lay her head on his shoulder, and squeeze herself right against Malfoy's side.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her blatant adoration, but didn't say anything. As Pansy continued to drape herself over Draco, Harry turned to view the other tables. The Ravenclaws were surprisingly quiet, each of them eating as they perused various books. The Hufflepuffs were softly chatting; groups formed along the table as they compared answers. The Gryffindors, in comparison, were joking and talking loudly, their conversations echoing through the Great Hall.

Harry's face burned red when he realized that a few of their conversations were about him. The loudest was, of course, the one between Finnegan, an Irish boy, whose name he had learned on the way off the train, and the redheaded boy. "I can't believe he was sorted into Slytherin," Finnegan said, arms crossed as he glared at the table.

"Yeah, I thought he was so nice before," the red head stated angrily as he shoved some food down his throat. Finnegan snorted. "You know how it is, mate. The nicer you look, the nastier you are." Harry smirked at the insult Finnegan had just paid himself and turned his attention to Malfoy, who had also heard the conversation.

"As if those two know anything," Malfoy sniffed, tossing his blonde hair haughtily. "A prat more interested in Quidditch than hygiene and a Weasley. He's too poor to even afford soap," Malfoy sneered.

The other two boys, hearing this putdown, glared angrily and were about to stand up when Professor McGonagall shot them a look. Sulking, they sat down and continued to glare at the Slytherin table, every now and then making rude gestures.

When their attention turned to him, Harry blushed and ducked under the table. He really didn't want to be a target again. Not here. He stayed there until he noticed that everyone was leaving. It wasn't until he sure that Goyle and Crabbe, who he had noticed tended to wait until everyone had left in order to grab the leftovers, had stood up that he finally left his hiding spot.

He took a moment to brush the dust off his bag, surreptitiously slipped a piece of dry toast into his pocket, and then ran out the entrance after his classmates. As his trainers slapped against the stones, he wondered what his first class would be like. He hoped magic was as wonderful as it sounded.

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First class of the day was Transfiguration, which was in a large room with rows of tables and chairs. Along the walls were various magical portraits and Harry found himself staring at them as the occupants talked and performed various bits of magic. When he noticed that all of his classmates had already taken their seats, Harry grabbed one in the far back corner.

Since the teacher had yet to appear, or the other half of the class for that matter, the Slytherins began discussing the various advantages and disadvantages of various classes. Harry quickly learned that Care of Magical Creatures was deemed useless, except for select few jobs, while Charms was good for practically anything. Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed to be the most anticipated class, and he found himself wondering if he too would find the class fascinating.

Malfoy, he noticed, seemed to be the prince of the room. Every time he opened his mouth, everyone paid attention. Their eyes were glued to him, even as they held their own conversations. Seated on opposite sides of Malfoy were Crabbe and Goyle. They were both dark haired, dark eyed with large lumbering bodies, even for their age. Harry couldn't tell which one was which.

That wasn't really necessary, however, since their total IQ was less than that of a doorknob. He went to move on to the next in Malfoy's court, Blaise Zabini, but was distracted by the sudden influx of Gryffindors' into the room. They were so loud…as they walked, talked, and even as they sat in their places. Harry wanted to cover his ears in at pain at all the noise, but managed to restrain himself.

It was during their entry that he noticed a tabby cat that had subtly snuck in during the ruckus, and was now sitting on the professor's desk. Avidly watching the cat, he noticed that it had an unnatural air about it.

The cat's eyes were intently focused on the class, and as it watched the students, Harry focused his attention on it to the point that he ignored the argument that sprang up between Malfoy and the Weasley.

They had drawn wands and were about to hex each other when the cat suddenly jumped off the desk and changed into the form of Professor McGonagall. Harry blinked in amazement, joined by most of the class.

_Wow, I wonder if I can do that?_

"Now," Professor McGonagall stated, stern eyes flashing. "I would suggest that those of you who are out of your seats regain them quickly," she stated flatly. Weasley sat quickly, shortly followed by a sneering Malfoy.

Professor McGonagall waited a moment before waving her hand. Immediately, all the Transfiguration books in the room flew out of various bags, landed on the desks, and flipped open to the first page of the first chapter. Harry blinked, awed at the spell. He noticed the others were impressed as well, but were concealing it far better.

"This is Transfiguration, a class focused on changing one object into another. This class is demanding, and I expect no less than your best. As per Ministry regulations, this class is required for your OWLS, so failing would not be in your best interest," Professor McGonagall warned.

"Now, we will begin with theory, so everyone take out your parchment and quills." There was a flurry of activity as every student grabbed a piece of parchment, a quill, and ink. Finnegan, Harry noticed, grabbed his parchment from his pocket, while Weasley took his quill out of his sock.

_Disgusting. Couldn't they take better care of their supplies?_

"Today," Professor McGonagall began. "We will cover the theory of changing a match into a needle." As the professor launched into the lecture, Harry grinned, quill awkwardly poised for writing. This would be wicked.

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Well, that's what he thought anyway. _I shouldn't have assumed. I should know better by now_. The theory took up the first half of the class, in which Harry took so many notes his hand almost fell off in exhaustion. Or protest.

It didn't help that he could barely manage any legible writing with the quill, since the ink spotted on the parchment every other word. At times he became so frustrated that he would shake the quill in hopes that the ink would magically come out correctly. And it did, come out that is, but it managed to spatter over the people sitting around him. When the theory part was finally over, Harry almost wanted to cry in relief.

When they finally got around to actually practicing the spell, Harry's face practically glowed in excitement. He was so ecstatic at the prospect of finally doing something that he was ignorant of the derisive looks the Slytherins were sending him. Raising his wand in imitation of the professor, Harry mimicked the movements carefully.

After several agonizing minutes of silently waving his wand, they were finally given permission to perform the spell. Finally! He would get to prove that he really did belong in this strange, new world. He raised his wand, stated the incantation, and moved it in the precise manner required for the spell, only to experience…nothing. From across the room, he heard the bossy girl's voice raise in excitement.

_Great…_

Frustrated, he did it once again, only to experience the same result. Harry bit his lip and eyed the other first years. They at least looked as if they were making some progress. Although none of them had done it on the first try, even Crabbe and Goyle had managed to at least start the transformation.

Harry glanced at the professor, who was making her to the Slytherin side of the room, and waved his wand once again. He reviewed his notes, looking for some error, only to find that he had done everything perfectly.

By the time the professor reached him, Harry was almost ready to burst into tears. Awkwardly, he rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses, determined to not cry like a baby. That would certainly be a great start to his school career.

When the professor stopped in front of his desk, Harry refused to look up, eyes focused on the match lying innocently in front of him. "Mr. Potter. Why have you not attempted the spell?" came the stern voice, instantly causing the Slytherins to look at him.

Although they did not show their glee as to his predicament to the Gryffindor side of the room, he could see it in their eyes as he glanced at them. Harry swallowed and turned his gaze to the professor. "I did try," he whispered. "It just…won't work." Instantly, he noted the softening of her eyes, and felt something inside of him relax.

"Try it again, Mr. Potter," she urged. Feeling some small ray of hope, Harry tried the spell once again, only to be disappointed as his magic failed to appear.

Professor McGonagall frowned as she looked at him carefully. He had done nothing wrong, which was rather surprising for someone completely new to the Wizarding World, but his magic had failed to appear. Maybe it was something else…

"Mr. Potter, wave your wand once for me, if you please," she said briskly. Harry did so, feeling foolish. When no sparks appeared from the wand tip, the professor's frown looked as if the magic was not coming out of his body. Rather unusual, that.

Nearby, almost the entire class was now focused on the scene. Harry flushed in mortification. He knew enough to realize that sparks should have come out of his wand, as it had done when he first held it in Ollivander's a month ago.

Frowning, Professor McGonagall glanced at the small clock floating above her desk, noting that the class was almost over. Briskly, she strode to the front of her room, her tartan trimmed robes flapping around her ankles. "For homework, you will read the entirety of the first two chapters and write an essay on one of the magical theories proposed.

The essay should be no longer than three feet in length, and should describe the theory, as well as an example of when it can be used. Class dismissed."

As the students hurried out of the room towards the Great Hall for lunch, Professor McGonagall waited for Harry Potter to get his things together. As one of the last to leave, she waited until everyone else had passed before she stopped him.

"Mr. Potter," she said kindly. "Come with me please." Harry's shoulders slumped in dejection, but he followed meekly behind her as she led him down a series of hallways.

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Their steps echoed down the empty hallways as the professor led him further away from the Great Hall. As they passed through the hallways, the portraits eyed them and whispered to one another in hurried conversations. Eventually, they reached a set of double oak doors, which bore a small plaque that read 'Infirmary.'

Harry felt a rising sense of alarm as he stood in front of those doors. In desperation, he gazed at the professor, green eyes flashing in terror. "Come along, Mr. Potter. You need to have a quick checkup." Harry shook his head, determined to not go in.

Professor McGonagall sighed at the stubborn refusal, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Harry instantly stiffened at the touch, but forced himself to release the tension. He hoped that she hadn't noticed. "Let's go, Mr. Potter," she stated softly, before quickly pushing him into the Infirmary.

As the doors shut behind him, Harry took a moment to glance around the interior. Like the rest of the castle, the walls were of stone with stained glass windows spaced evenly along the outer wall. Along the inner walls, however, were more of the fascinating portraits and all of the occupants seemed to be healers.

On both sides of the room were a series of beds, with a small station at each, full of necessary supplies. At the far end of the infirmary was something that resembled a chemistry lab, along with an office. All in all, it was truly impressive.

Coming back to himself, Harry glanced over to his side, only to see that Professor McGonagall had left, presumably to seek out the nurse. He sighed and ambled over to a nearby bed to wait.

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Poppy Pomfrey frowned thoughtfully as she watched Minerva make her way out of the Infirmary. Truly, this was disturbing. For Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, to be unable to produce any magic at all was truly astounding. Idly tapping her wand against her white dress robes, Poppy walked out of her office and over to the tiny first year, who sat nervously on the edge of one of her beds.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," she said kindly, catching the attention of the first year. Though he strongly resembled his long dead parents, she noticed that he was painfully thin, as well as short. "I'm Madam Pomfrey and I'm going to be giving you a checkup."

Harry nodded and clasped his hands together. "Your professor tells me that you had trouble using your magic." Again, Harry nodded. "Alright, then," she stated and brandished her wand. "I'm going to be running a series of diagnostics to find the problem. So, just sit still and relax."

End of Chapter 3!!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own HP!

Chapter 4

Hours had passed and Harry was still waiting for the results.

Madam Pomfrey had conducted test after test, her wand emitting a series of sparks after each one. And now she was back in her office, analyzing the results.

Harry nervously kicked his feet as he waited.

He'd briefly opened one of his books a few hours ago, but had only gotten a few pages into it before he had become too worried to focus.

What had happened to his magic?

It had been fine that morning, but when class came around…

Resolutely, Harry shook his head. He would not drive himself to distraction.

The door to Madam Pomfrey's office opened and Harry's head shot up.

Grimly, Poppy made her way over to her young charge, her heels clicking against the floor, and stared at the boy. After a moment, she sat down on the bed with a sigh.

"Well, Mr. Potter. It seems I've found the problem. When performing one of my scans I found a series of small fractures in your right wrist," she stated, hand absently crumpling the paper she was holding.

Harry nodded, choosing to remain silent.

"I noticed that some were newer than others. The most recent seems to have occurred some time today, most likely as a result of using your wrist while it was already injured."

Harry blinked, but said nothing.

"Now, for all intents and purposes your wrist would have healed without incident if it had remained stationary.

However, since you continued to use it for an extended period of time the injury became much worse and resulted in a blockage of the main channel in which the magic flows out of your body."

Harry blinked in confusion.

Madam Pomfrey sighed as she noticed the confused look and endeavored to explain it somewhat differently. "Mr. Potter, everyone has several channels running through their body.

It is through these channels that magic travels.

When one of the channels is blocked, the magic becomes trapped, and the wizard involved temporarily loses accessibility to the magic.

Unfortunately, you blocked a main channel, which resulted in today's situation."

Harry nodded mutely as Madam Pomfrey took a deep breath.

"Now, Mr. Potter. Why did you not let your wrist heal? Why did you continue to use it even after you were hurt?" she asked, sharp eyes watching every move the boy made.

Harry shrugged and looked down at the scuffs on his trainers, making sure to block most of his face from that penetrating gaze with his hair.

Madam Pomfrey tsked in disapproval, before firmly taking hold of his chin. Harry tensed, but did nothing as she brought his eyes to hers.

"Harry," she said gently, her face radiating gentle concern. "Why have you not taken care of yourself? Why did you not seek help?"

He took a deep breath. "It just didn't hurt that bad, I suppose," he muttered.

Poppy narrowed her eyes, but chose to pursue the topic at another time.

After all, she couldn't force it out of the boy. She would have to gain his trust in order for him to confide in her.

Waving her wand, Poppy summoned a series of bottles from her office and directed them to float gently to the side table placed near the bed.

Harry's eyes widened at the sight of so many bottles.

Surely they weren't all for him.

He wasn't hurt that bad! After all, the pain in his wrist only felt like a dull, constant throb, something that he could easily ignore. Surely, the nurse was overreacting.

"Now Harry," Poppy stated with a raised eyebrow. "We will start with a mild from of Skele-Gro, used to heal bones."

She deftly grabbed one of the smaller vials and handed it to him.

Harry's nose wrinkled at the awful stench.

What was in that?

He hesitated, unsure as to whether the medicine would help or harm him.

Madam Pomfrey urged him on, a slight tapping of her wand the only real sign that she was irritated.

Harry did not wish to alienate the kindly matron, the first adult that had actually showed him more than an ounce of kindness, so he screwed up his face and downed the concoction quickly.

He gagged several times as it slid down his throat, since it unfortunately tasted worse than it smelled, but eventually managed to swallow it all.

Weakly he held the vial out to the nurse, who traded it for a small glass of water. That, he gulped eagerly, relishing the feeling of the cool liquid as it slid down his throat.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Poppy questioned, before reaching over to smooth his wild hair.

Surprisingly, Harry did not tense or flinch.

Poppy smiled satisfactorily. Ah, the sedative she mixed in with the Skele-Gro was kicking in. That would make it much easier to feed him the rest of the potions, most of which caused slight pain as they worked.

Poppy frowned as she ran a hand through hair the same as her own. She really should remember to give him the name of the hair care product she used. It had worked wonders on her own hair ever since she was a child.

The poor boy.

Whoever had decided to hurt him would pay dearly.

Only, she had to get Harry to discuss it with her first. Hopefully, she would discover who it was before the end of term.

She refused to send another child back to an abusive home.

Not after what had happened the last time.

No matter what anyone else said she would not let it happen again.

Never again.

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Harry sighed as he picked up his battered bag from the floor. After numerous foul-tasting potions, Madam Pomfrey had given him permission to spend the rest of the day in bed.

Provided, of course, if he did not move his wrist and agreed to meet her the next morning before breakfast.

Eyeing the thick white gauze wrapped around it, he decided that he couldn't wait until tomorrow morning. He knew that he would be teased incessantly for his failure in Transfiguration.

He really did not need to be teased for this as well.

Stealing a glance over his shoulder, Harry noticed that Madam Pomfrey was now bustling around in her office.

Although he was supposed to wait for Professor Snape to escort him, maybe he could escape and sneak into the dorms before…

"And where exactly do you think you are going, Mr. Potter?" came the silky voice of his Head of House.

Harry jumped and flushed as he realized that his teacher had just caught him attempting to sneak out of the Infirmary.

"You wouldn't be trying to do something incredibly stupid, now would you?"

Harry flinched at the sarcasm and shook his head.

Severus Snape stared at the boy, black eyes fathomless as he contemplated the boy's rather odd behavior. He had hardly expected the son of James Potter, the bully of Gryffindor, to be so quiet, so unassuming.

It was disconcerting.

Add to that the disturbing discussion with Poppy. Who indeed had fractured the boy's wrist, and why had he not gone crying to the Infirmary as all children did?

At least the boy's magic would be accessible once his wrist had healed.

If the boy had known that his magic would fail to manifest if its main conduit was broken, then he probably would not have waited.

Severus sneered at the cowering first year, who looked as if a light wind would knock him over.

"Come along, Mr. Potter. You and I need to have a little talk," he stated, voice lowered to almost a whisper. Severus watched as those tiny shoulders slumped in misery, but refused to feel pity.

That would not occur until much later, when he was very far away from the boy.

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Severus Snape's office was not what Harry had expected.

From the stories told by the older Slytherins, he had expected chains to be dangling from the ceiling and slime dripping down the walls.

Instead, Snape had positioned heavy tapestries, depicting age-old battles, across the walls.

Between each tapestry was a floating candle, and, as far as Harry could tell, it looked as if it was charmed to turn on and off based on whether or not people were actually inside the room.

Brilliant idea, that.

The standard stone floor was covered in a rich Persian rug that Harry knew was very expensive.

He recalled his aunt's obsession with these rugs and the prestige and social standing they brought to their owners. As far back as he could remember she spent every Saturday attending auctions in hopes of acquiring one of the rugs.

Harry eyed the expensive object and decided to be very careful if he had to walk upon it.

Who knew how the professor would act if he accidentally destroyed such a priceless object?

Placed in the center of the rug was a large desk, made of teak and another wood that he couldn't identify by sight.

The desk was large, to the point that it made the room feel even smaller.

Harry admired its gleaming surface in the light, wondering how long it took wizards to make furniture.

Placed next to it was a large bookshelf filled with Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts tomes, as well as what looked to be a few Muggle novels.

He blinked in astonishment.

It seemed very odd for the Potions Master to have something written by a Muggle. From what he knew of the man, which admittedly wasn't very much, it was akin to Uncle Vernon owning a wand.

Harry's fingers twitched as he gazed at the tomes. He would love to spend an hour or two flipping through one of the books.

The door shut behind him, making him jump.

Sheepishly he glanced at his professor, only to be met with a stern glare.

Harry swallowed and, at an impatient gesture from the professor, took a seat in the single chair placed in front of the desk.

It was a hard wooden chair, and he knew, at that moment, that it was designed to make students uncomfortable.

The soft sound of the other chair being slid back brought Harry's mind back to the present, and he moved his gaze to the ornate quill sitting on the desktop.

It was a beautiful mix of silver and black, and Harry wondered why the potion stained fingers of his professor owned something so nice.

"Madam Pomfrey has informed me that you will recover your ability to use magic within a few days."

"Yes, sir," Harry whispered as he looked into those eyes. They were so dark that he could not even tell the size of the pupil.

He'd never seen anybody with eyes like that.

"I would like to know," Snape continued, his silky voice soothing Harry's nerves like a soft caress. "How you were injured."

Harry shrugged, determined to keep silent as long as possible.

He wasn't supposed to tell. He'd be in trouble if he told, and trouble meant pain.

Even though he logically knew that his uncle could not reach him at Hogwarts, he still kept his words. After all, he didn't like pain.

"Tell me now, Mr. Potter. Otherwise, I will be forced to make you tell me the truth," the professor finished in a sinister voice that caused a shiver of alarm to creep up his spine.

He decided for the second best course of action.

He needed to lie.

"I don't know, sir," he said, eyes wide as he could make them in a desperate attempt to make Snape believe that it was the truth.

Snape, naturally, did not fall for it and pinned Harry with an unwavering stare.

Harry froze as if he was a deer in headlights.

"I do not believe, Mr. Potter, that you are unaware as to what put enough pressure on your wrist to fracture it.

I am neither gullible nor unbelievably stupid, as you seem to believe," he hissed in anger, nostrils flaring as he glared at his erstwhile student.

Harry winced in guilt, but chose not to reply.

"Now, the truth, Mr. Potter. I have all day."

Harry gulped in fear. "I-I can't sir."

Snape's eyebrow arched as he drummed his fingers against the desktop in a rare show of impatience.

"You do not possess the ability to form the words or you refuse to do so?" Snape inquired.

Harry blushed, bright red creeping over his entire face. "I'm not allowed to," he whispered, clutching his robes in an attempt to dispel some of his nervousness.

"Let me assure you, Mr. Potter, that you can and you will. Immediately."

Several moments of tense silence followed.

"I am waiting."

Harry bit his lip nervously. "If I told you something," he began hesitantly. "Would you tell anyone?"

"Within reason," Severus returned frankly.

Harry debated for a moment and then nodded slightly.

"Alright then. Let's start again. How were you injured?"

"My uncle was…angry about me going off to school. He…squeezed a little too hard. He didn't mean it!"

Severus mentally rolled his eyes at the ludicrousness of the statement, but kept his face impassive. "Ah, so he didn't mean to hurt you in such a manner that it would take weeks to heal?"

"Yes, sir," Harry weakly stated, aware of how idiotic this reasoning sounded.

"Why did you not seek out help?"

Harry blinked and tilted his head to the side. "Well, sir, to be honest it didn't really hurt. I mean, I've felt worse and…"

Harry clamped his mouth shut, wary of saying anything too revealing.

He immediately turned his eyes to the bookshelf.

Severus sighed and decided to end the interrogation for the moment. He had to think about these new revelations first.

"Go to bed, Mr. Potter. I will expect to see you at breakfast, after your visit with Madam Pomfrey."

Harry nodded, grabbed his bag, and fled the office, the sound of his trainers slapping the stone echoing down the hallway.

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It was later into the evening when his year mates clambered into the dormitory, talking rather loudly as they argued amongst themselves.

Once they caught sight of Harry, however, they all fell silent.

Harry naturally chose to ignore them, especially in light of what they had done to his clothes this morning.

Once he had gotten back from Snape's office, he had spent over two hours searching for his missing set of clothes, and had finally found them wadded up into a sodden, wet ball behind Crabbe's desk.

It had taken some time to wring most of the water out and now they were laid out on the end of his bed, drying in the cool air of the dungeons.

"So, Potter," Malfoy spat, eyes cold as he glared at his nemesis. "Finally stopped hiding, have you?"

Harry mustered up an ineffective glare, but was too tired to do anything else.

Really, his day had just been too much.

Malfoy sighed dramatically, pretending to swoon amidst the snickers of the others.

"Really, Potter. It must be a record. I don't think anyone in history has ended up in the Infirmary the first day."

Harry ignored him.

Malfoy pouted when he did not receive an answer and turned to his cohorts. "Come on guys; let's head to the common room. I don't want to be in the same room as a weak baby," he taunted.

Harry closed his eyes, but remained firm in his decision to ignore the insult as the others followed Malfoy out of the room.

Once they had all left, he took a few moments to arrange his belongings for tomorrow. A quick shower later and he was climbing into his comfortable bed.

With a grateful sigh, he blew out the candle floating next to his bed and drifted into an uneasy sleep, riddled with nightmares.

His last thought before drifting off was that hopefully tomorrow would be a better day.

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All alone in his private quarters, Severus Snape took a sip of his finest brandy, trying to erase the thousand questions racing through his mind.

The most prevalent was why the spawn of his most hated enemy was not living the pampered life that everyone expected.

Why indeed was the Boy-Who-Lived not living the spoilt life of a prince?

After all, the signs of abuse could not indicate anything else.

Second in his line of questions was whether Albus was aware of the boy's home life.

Surely, if he was aware, he would do something.

Right?

Severus took another sip of brandy, enjoying the feel of the warmth slipping down his throat to settle in his stomach.

Clad in his oldest, and most comfortable, dressing gown, he lounged in his favorite armchair in front of the fire.

Silently, he toasted the flickering flames, remembering the ghosts of his own past.

Late into the night, he stared into the fire, until the flames eventually lured him into a fitful sleep.

Early in the morning, he awoke with a sudden start with the certainty that something had gone horribly wrong.

End of Chapter 4! Please review!!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter!

Chapter 5

Harry shot up in bed, a scream lodged in his throat, and panted as he clutched his covers in a death grip. His nightmares had been unusually vicious, complete with Uncle Vernon and the belt, with Dudley and his piggish eyes in the background.

Shivering faintly, he brought the covers up to his chest as he relived the more gruesome parts of the nightmare. There had been shouts, blood, and, in the end, there had been the tub full of water…

He could almost feel the large meaty hands on his neck, holding him tight underneath…

Shaking his head, Harry put the thought firmly from his mind and lay back on the pillow. He realized that it was futile to try to get more sleep, so, as he had done on many other nights, he lay there, stiff as a board.

As he stared at the green canopy above him, waiting for time to pass, he heard an odd noise.

Harry froze, straining his ears in the silence of the dormitory.

A soft creak sounded through the room, and Harry sucked in a sharp breath.

From his childhood, he knew the sound of a door being slowly, softly opened, as if the intruder knew that he was not supposed to be there, but came anyway.

Vernon had done it many a time, and Harry's sleep pattern had rapidly changed once he began visiting his room at night. The endless time waiting for him to come, followed by the dread as the door opened…

After the event, he would spend hours in which he couldn't sleep, reliving it repeatedly in his mind.

It was only during the day, when he was locked in the cupboard, that he got any true sleep.

Thankfully, his uncle was much too big to get inside the tiny room.

He always had been.

As the sound repeated itself, once again, Harry held his breath, knowing instinctively that whoever was creeping inside was coming for him…

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Anticipation sang through his veins as he slowly opened the door to the first year boy's dormitory.

Finally, he would receive the chance to enact revenge against the brat who had taken the Dark Lord from his rightful position in wizarding society.

If it weren't for the Boy-Who-Lived the Dark Lord would still be in power, and, most likely, the leader of the light, Dumbledore, would be dead.

The light side would be practically nonexistent, possibly clinging to some small shred of hope through a tiny resistance.

His family would be at the top of both the wizarding society and Ministry of Magic.

However, the Brat-Who-Lived defeated the Dark Lord, through an indeterminable amount of luck, and his family was forced to smooth its' way to the upper echelons of government via an unreasonable amount of galleons.

In addition, it was only through the Malfoy's powerful magic, as well as a bloodline that traced back to the Book of Gold, that kept them at the top of wizarding society.

Abraxas' grey eyes glinted as he slid into the room, swiftly followed by his two friends, Aloysius and Veran. Strongly resembling his uncle Lucius, he stood tall and walked with a sort of feline grace as they walked pass the other beds.

As seventh years, they were responsible for the welfare of Slytherin, as well as the training of the second generation Death Eaters.

There were only a few of them so far, since most of the sons and daughters of the original Death Eaters went to Durmstrang, but they had made much progress in their training in the last few years.

When the Dark Lord finally returned he would be very pleased with their attempts to prove that they belonged in his army.

Kidnapping and torturing the Boy-Who-Lived seemed like a perfect thing to do to curry the Dark Lord's favor.

Abraxas bared his teeth in a silent snarl as they surrounded the brat's bedside. His velvet curtains were shut, but Abraxas knew where to open them in order to take the boy by surprise.

Abraxas motioned to the other two, so that they stood on either side of the bed where the boy's head should be located. They waited, breathless with excitement, for Abraxas to make the first move.

All was silent in the dorm when he raised his wand, thirteen inches of holly and unicorn hair, and snapped the curtains open with a sharp flick.

The Boy-Who-Lived was lying in the bed with his covers up to his chest, eyes wide as he gazed at the predators surrounding him.

Before Harry could even dream of moving, Abraxas cast a _Silencio_, shortly followed by a _Petrificus Totalus_, locking the boy's limbs even tighter together than they had been out of fear.

He hoisted the boy upon his shoulder with very little effort and made his way swiftly and silently out of the darkened dormitory, ensuring that he banged the boy's body against the walls as he walked.

By tomorrow, the boy would wish that he had never survived the encounter with the Dark Lord.

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For Harry, it seemed as if they traveled through the dungeons of Hogwarts for hours.

Petrified as he was, he could only see the cracks in the stone floor as they moved along at a rapid pace.

As they moved, Harry noticed that they were moving downward, far beneath the surface. It was bitterly cold and only getting colder.

Idly, Harry wondered if he would have hypothermia by the time he managed to get free.

After all, he was only wearing Dudley's castoffs, and the amount of holes in the clothing guaranteed that they provided no warmth.

They wound their way through countless hallways before finally arriving in a small, dusty room, in which they only decoration was a large battered wooden desk that was placed in the farthest corner.

Harry was violently thrown, his head banging painfully against the surface as he landed onto this desk.

Leaning painfully, with only his head and upper torso on the desk, Harry could only stare at the dusty ceiling as he heard them cast a series of unfamiliar charms.

If he had been able to breathe faster, he would have, deep panicked, breaths that would have echoed in the tiny room.

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Aloysius Zabini was the oldest of his three siblings, Blaise being the only one that currently attended Hogwarts.

Part of a historically neutral family in the eyes of society, he had been taught from an early age to support the Dark Lord in private.

It had been devastating when his defeat had been announced in the papers.

With the classic Zabini looks, delicately structured features combined with dark hair and hazel eyes, Aloysius was a striking teenager.

Termed as a "god" by the girls of Hogwarts, he used his looks and political influence to help form the newest group of Death Eaters.

True none of them were marked, but they idolized the ideals of the Dark Lord and were eager for his return.

It was well known among their small group that their parents had plans in motion to bring the Dark Lord back to a body.

Aloysius' father was currently traveling across Europe in search of an ancient ritual that would assist the Dark Lord.

Out of boredom, and a thirst to prove himself, Aloysius proposed the plan to kidnap Potter several days ago to Abraxas.

His subtle manipulations worked and Abraxas agreed to the plan with very little fuss. If only his brother Blaise could have joined him…

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Veran Greengrass, older brother of Daphne, a first year Slytherin, smirked, hazel eyes alight with glee as he gazed down a the paralyzed child, clad in the worst pajamas he had ever seen.

Vaguely resembling elephant skin, they swamped the boy's body and made him look even more diminutive than normal.

The clothes, though incredibly disgusting, did nothing to detract from the boy's looks, which strongly hinted at Elvish blood.

He looked so fragile…

Veran wanted to crush that fragility.

He licked his lips at the delicious sight, and wondered how long it would take to make him bleed.

Veran had always had a depraved taste, and although the other Slytherins knew of it, they never mentioned it to anyone.

He had noticed, however, that after his fourth year he was not allowed to be alone with any of the other years. It was a subtle manipulation to be true, but he noticed it all the same.

Despite the general disgust of his preferences, Veran made a perfect potential Death Eater, and had become friends with Aloysius and Abraxas in his second year.

Ever since then they had plotted everything together.

Tonight's plan would be the first of many they would design in order to break the light side into many little pieces.

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Abraxas, standing next to his best friend, raised an eyebrow at the obvious lust shining from his eyes.

Really, his friend could be so Gryffindor sometimes.

Showing his emotions to everyone within twenty feet…

How disgusting…

He turned his cold eyes back to the child, and quickly reversed the charms, before binding his upper torso to the desk with ropes.

The sharp sound of the brat's terrified breaths broke into the air, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Despite knowing that he would soon have vengeance, he had a foreboding feeling…

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Severus shot out of bed in the early hours of the morning, instantly aware that something was horribly wrong, even though he wasn't even fully awake yet.

Years of dealing with his Slytherins had given him an instinctive sense of their fights, illnesses, and day-to-day problems.

His sense was similar to that of a parent with his child.

Tonight was no different.

As he scrambled to throw on his potion-stained boots and wrinkled robes from the previous day, he wondered which students had phenomenally stupid enough to disobey his standing order stay in the dorms at night.

Grabbing his ebony wand from the night table, Severus raced into his study and tapped an enchanted piece of parchment on his desk. Used by all Heads of House, it gave the current locations of all the students under a professor's care.

Designed after the famous clocks made for wizarding families, the Weasleys being one of them, it automatically updated itself every time a student moved around the castle.

As he waited for the list to appear, he took the opportunity to tie back his hair and lace up his boots.

Finally, after much sneering on his part, the list was complete, and he began to scan each name, determined to find the errant troublemakers.

Everything appeared normal until he reached Veran Greengrass, who looked to be in the southernmost part of the dungeons, a kilometer below the bottom of the lake.

No one had gone down there for years, as it was deemed too far from the castle proper to be of any use as a stable classroom or a part of the Slytherin dormitory.

Severus frowned as he pondered Greengrass' possible reasons for descending into the most unused part of the castle.

The conclusions that came to his mind were not heartening.

His dark eyes continued down the list and paused when he reached Abraxas Malfoy's name.

Why on earth would Draco's cousin lower himself to descend into such a dusty, dirty place where his twenty Galleon robes might become mussed?

Severus' lip curled at the very thought of silly, prissy Abraxas. The boy was so concerned with maintaining his appearance and making political connections than learning from his professors.

Not that he needed to, since he knew most of the curriculum before he even started attending.

The only thing he worked on learning was the Dark Arts; the only lessons Severus refused to give him.

Really, he could be Lucius' direct heir. He was so similar to Lucius it was frightening.

That boy was up to something, and, for a brief second, Severus really did not want to know what it was.

His eyes froze as he reached the next name on the list in that location: Harry Potter.

Bloody hell!

What had that stupid boy gotten himself into?

That fact that the first year was with two, no make that three seventh year Slytherins he noted when he reached the bottom of the list, was extremely worrying.

Severus realized that the first year was far too tame to go wandering around at night, especially into the furthest parts of the dungeons.

His stupid Slytherins must have kidnapped him for some supposedly honorable reason. It didn't help matters that all three of them had Death Eater parents.

Not a good situation, at all.

Gnashing his teeth together in frustration, Severus tapped the parchment once more, wiping it blank, and strode out of his quarters, his robes billowing out behind him.

Though not as much as normal, since the wrinkles offset the balance.

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Harry let out a sharp cry as another fist landed on his face. Blood trickled over his left eye as he panted, glaring at the three seventh years.

He had no idea why they'd done this. He'd screamed for answers, but the only ones he had received had been in the form of fists.

It was too much like home.

Harry had given up resistance when that thought had come to his mind, believing that if he refused to fight back then they would eventually leave him alone.

It hadn't happened, however.

Instead, it had actually gotten worse.

"I'm bored," Veran whined, as Aloysius hit the boy once again, eliciting a wince.

"Can't we try something else?"

Abraxas rolled his eyes. "You're not getting anywhere near the boy's pants, Veran. So, shut it."

Veran glared, but refused to comment.

Hitting the boy once again, Aloysius moved back, panting in exertion.

"Abraxas, you're up."

Abraxas gave a feral grin as he stepped up to the child. Brandishing his wand, he raised an eyebrow and turned his head to his friends.

"Cruciatus?"

Aloysius shrugged in indifference. "Why not?"

And so it began.

Harry's screams echoed down the hall as Abraxas cast the unforgivable over and over again.

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Severus' feet pounded the stone floor as he ran towards the furthest point of the dungeons, having long ago given up on maintaining his purposeful stride once he left the main part of the castle.

An ongoing _Point Me_ spell led him through the more unreliable parts of the maze as he ran. He could ill afford wasted time spent attempting to discern the correct way through the winding corridors.

Especially after Peeves', the resident poltergeist, decision to entice a few students to conceal several hallways.

More than once, he found himself racing towards a solid wall, only to discover that it was an illusion.

It was when he heard the screams that Severus knew he was close.

Using up the last of his strength, he sprinted towards the very last door at the end of the hallway.

Panting, he skidded to a halt (a most undignified way to cease running, in his opinion), and took stock of the various charms upon the ancient door.

Most of them were garden-variety sixth year charms, but there were a few that only purebloods knew, as well as a Dark Arts charm.

The presence of the final charm irrevocably proved that his students had finally decided what path they were going to follow.

Severus felt a sudden sadness that even more of his students were going to end up like him, trapped in the Dark Lord's service.

It took but a few short waves of his wand and a muttered incantation to open the wooden door, but when it did, he could not believe the sight that met his eyes.

Subconsciously, Severus had known that his students were up to something terrible, but to see it in his own eyes still made him stare in shock.

Three of his prized Slytherins, two of them prior Prefects, were standing around little Harry Potter, watching as he writhed from what could only be the _Cruciatus Curse_.

The boy was dirty, bloody and looked as if he could hardly stand another moment of pain.

Even though he was in shock, Severus' years as a spy came to the forefront of his brain. Raising his wand, he cast a wide range _Stupefy_.

As one, they all dropped to the floor, wands rolling across the stone floor.

Unfortunately, the _Stupefy_ also caught Potter; his head hit the desk with a bone-jarring crash.

Now that no further immediate action was required, Severus could only blink and stare at the bodies of his students as he slowly lowered the wand to his side.

End of Chapter 5!

Please review and thanks to those who already have!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own HP!

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I had a major writer's block that I couldn't shake. Hope you like the new chapter! Please review!!

Chapter 6

Hogwarts was very displeased, more so than she had been in years. Torches along the dim hallways flared into life, almost blinding in their intensity. Staircases began to shift into a complicated pattern, and then moved every minute or so, making it virtually impossible for anyone to travel across the castle on foot.

Suits of armor, their joints now strangely free of creaks, moved to block hallways, their stern and forbidding demeanors silently daring anyone to attempt to pass.

Outside, all the plants in the greenhouses closed their buds, while the Whomping Willow swung its branches even more violently than usual. Several hit the ground with such force that they left deep imprints carved into the grass.

The lake bubbled and churned, while the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest swayed violently. Hogwarts was very displeased with the happenings of late, and would not take anymore.

This incident involving her Chosen would not be tolerated, and she would ensure that the one in charge of her wards would feel her wrath.

Just as he had years ago, when two of her Chosen had almost been hurt in a malicious attempt at murder. Magic sparking in her fury, Hogwarts sent it racing along her wards intent on informing the headmaster of the horrible situation.

Alone in bed, Albus Dumbledore sat up with a gasp as Hogwarts made him aware of the situation and her significant anger.

Within minutes, he was in the main part of Hogwarts, determined to calm the castle down and restore it to rights before the perpetrators were brought to his office.

After all, he couldn't have the castle acting as if it was under siege, especially if a student decided to wander in the early hours of the morning.

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Poppy Pomfrey was livid. She had only been asleep for a few hours, when Severus had burst into her private quarters adjacent to her office and demanded that she wake up instantly.

She dressed and walked into the Infirmary, expecting another prank-gone-wrong situation with one of the students, only to see Harry Potter once again. Seeing the small form, Poppy gasped in dismay.

He looked as if he had been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs. It wasn't until she had finished her scans of the boy that she turned to the professor anxiously hovering by the bedside. Not that he looked anxious, of course.

"What on earth happened to the boy this time, Severus," she asked sharply, wand emitting angry sparks as she tapped it on her thigh. Severus gave her an arched eyebrow but said nothing.

In return, Poppy rolled her eyes and began gathering the various potions she would need. Over the clink of glass vials she heard the Infirmary doors close as he left.

She idly wondered which of his students had done the damage, sine she knew that if it had been students of any other house he would have willingly given her all the information.

With a mental sigh, Poppy lifted a vial of Skele-Gro and eased it down Harry's throat, shortly followed by Bruise Balm and a Sleeping Draught, ensuring that he would remain asleep.

With the most pertinent details taken care of, she reached for her wand and ran another scan, to determine if there were any internal injuries she might have missed. Running her eyes down the long list of injuries, Poppy sighed when nothing else appeared.

Poor child. He would have to be here for a couple of days, but at least it would give his wrist a chance to heal. However, he would miss his entire first week of classes. Poppy gazed sadly at the small form in the bed, nearly smothered in blankets.

No child deserved this, especially not this child. With a sigh, Poppy walked to her office, intent on writing up the necessary reports for the incident.

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Severus gripped his wand tightly in barely suppressed fury as he stared at the three most idiotic members of his house. What in heaven's name were they thinking? Stupid, idiotic snakes.

Trying to advertise that they were followers of the long dead Dark Lord had to be the most moronic thing he had ever seen. He'd taught them better than that he was sure!

Severus paced in front of the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, anxiously waiting for Albus to return from his midnight jaunt about the castle.

Currently, the three miscreants were sitting upstairs, mild Sticking Charms preventing them from moving, while he did his best to work off the excessive amount of anger that had steadily risen after he had discovered the three attacking Potter.

Severus bared his teeth in a vicious snarl at the mere thought of the boy. Logically, he understood that the attack was not the boy's fault; he was just a victim of circumstance.

Emotionally, however, he only saw him as James Potter's spawn, an arrogant little clone that had no business being in his house, and who most assuredly provoked his finest students into beating him into a pulp.

Unfortunately, despite his best efforts to overcome his past, the emotional side to be winning. Oh, he'd done his duty, never let it be said that Severus neglected his job.

He'd taken the boy to the Infirmary, unceremoniously dropped him into a bed, and even waited to ensure that Poppy had a handle on the situation. _Such a small helpless child_, Severus' inner Albus prompted.

Severus shook his head fiercely._ He is not a helpless child_, he snarled back, idly hexing the nearest portrait in frustration. Indignantly, the occupant brandished a fist and shook it in fury.

_Come now_, inner Albus chided. _He's only eleven. _

_Eleven's old enough! _

The inner Albus tsked and Severus felt a slight sense of shame. He ignored it, however, and hexed the portrait again, changing the tasteful eighteenth century clothes into a set of gaudy robes similar to the ones Albus usually wore.

The woman in question let loose with several insults that would have made a sailor's ears turn blue and stomped out of the picture. Severus smirked in triumph before resuming his relentless pacing.

The gargoyle rolled its' eyes, wondering why he had to put up with this sort of behavior. His cousin was guarding a respectable castle, complete with a moat and drawbridge.

He'd gotten stuck with this dilapidated dump, with hundreds of students that gave him no respect. He should have remained in France, it was much nicer.

_I wish that I didn't have to remind you of the behavior you exhibited when you were eleven_, inner Albus stated, once again starting up the conversation. _You should know by now that children should not be punished for the sins of their fathers._

Severus scowled at the not so pleasant reminder of his unfortunate childhood. His abusive father and lack of a mother (she'd abandoned him when he was nine) had largely affected the way he'd interacted with his peers at Hogwarts. If only he'd not had such a dreadful family…

Vaguely, Severus noticed that he was finally calm enough to not take one hundred points from the next student he met, regardless of house. That was saying something, especially in regards to Gryffindor, the house he despised.

With the restoration of his famous blank mask, came the memory of Harry Potter, eyes wide as he took in the grand sight Hogwarts made. Followed by that came the memory of the boy's constant timidity.

No one arrogant could be that hesitant and shy, could they?

Severus remembered his first year away at Hogwarts, where he was finally free to make friends and act as he saw fit without fear of a beating. He frowned when he realized that the boy tended to at much as he did. It was frightening, to say the least.

It was some time later when Albus Dumbledore finally arrived at the entrance to his office. As he strode along, he hummed, grateful that he had finally been able to make Hogwarts stand down.

It had been supremely difficult, but after many promises to make sure that little Harry was protected, she had calmed down and returned to normal.

At seeing Severus frantically pacing back and forth, Albus extended his stride. "Severus, I trust everything has been taken care of?" he asked pleasantly.

Startled, the professor paused mid-step, before turning dark fathomless eyes to his mentor. Immediately he sneered at the blinding yellow robes the man had donned for the night.

"The troublemakers are in the office, and I dropped the injured student off in the infirmary," he snapped.

Albus tipped his head in acknowledgement, hand automatically reaching for a lemon drop, only to come up empty. Disconcerted, he frowned before assuming his customary cheery expression. "Now, which student was harmed?"

"Harry Potter," Severus growled, and felt a shiver run down his spine when the Headmaster's eyes abruptly darkened.

"Well, then. Let us see if we can get this mess straightened out then."

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When Albus and Severus entered the office, the three Slytherins, seated in armchairs in front of the large desk, shrank in their seats. Silence reigned in the room as Albus took a seat at the desk and eyed the trio.

Severus chose to stand behind Albus, fixing the three with a glare that made them want to sink into the floor.

"Well, gentlemen," Albus stated quietly, blue eyes solemn. "Perhaps you would care to explain why a fellow student is currently in the Infirmary."

The trio shivered slightly as the temperature in the room dropped. Severus, of course, remained impassive, save for the blatant fury blazing from his eyes.

"Yes, I am eager to hear this explanation," Severus responded in his silky voice, which alternately made Veran shiver in delight and Aloysius in fear. Abraxas, as a Malfoy, chose to refrain from showing his response to that voice.

Albus frowned lightly and absentmindedly popped a lemon drop in his mouth. For several minutes, the only sound was the Headmaster's slurping of the sweet. The silence stretched until finally Albus' raised an eyebrow at his potions professor.

Taking the hint, Severus flushed, a dull flush that somehow made his skin seem even more sallow, removed the Silencio with a sharp flick of his wand.

A higher arch of the eyebrow resulted in the removal of the Sticking Charm on their hands, enabling them to move freely. The trio exchanged several quick glances before Abraxas finally cleared his throat.

"Well, sir," he began smoothly, eerily reminding Severus of the boy's uncle, Lucius. "It's all a big misunderstanding. We realized that the first year was not in the dorm, and being the considerate people that we are, we went to look for him."

Aloysius broke in, easily knowing how his friend wanted him to continue the story.

"We used a Locator Charm, which led us to the classroom in the farthest corner of the dungeons," he said hastily, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he found himself trapped by the penetrating gazes of the two wizards.

"We found Potter on the floor having some sort of seizure," Veran claimed, eyes wide in an attempt to appear innocent.

"So, we picked him up, put him on the desk, and held him down to keep him from hurting himself," Abraxas explained, trying to avoid the twin gazes, but failing.

"It was awful," Aloysius whispered. "He was muttering to himself; he sounded out of his mind."

Veran swallowed and looked at Abraxas before continuing. "And I guess that was when Professor Snape came in. He must have thought we were hurting the boy, because he stunned us and dragged us up here."

Their story complete, the Slytherins gazed down at their hands, all too aware of the damning power of Legilimency. Silently, they urged their professor to take their side, as he had always done in the past.

They were after all, purebloods, and their parents traveled in the same social circles as the professor.

The two wizards shared a long look, in which the trio became increasingly nervous. Finally, the headmaster gave a slight nod, and with a flourish, Severus stood and moved to stand in front of Abraxas, the clear ringleader of the group.

Leaning in close, Severus stared deep into Abraxas' mercurial eyes. "I suggest," he hissed, crooked teeth bared in all their glory. "That you tell the Headmaster the truth; otherwise, I shall be forced to use Veritaserum on your worthless hides."

Abraxas' eyes widened in an uncharacteristic display of emotion at the clear threat. With a swallow, Abraxas gave a quick glance to his two friends before complying.

By the time his voice had died down the trio, even Abraxas, the fearless leader that he claimed to be, were afraid to look into the eyes of the two wizards. The air was suffocating in their anger, magic crackling around them.

Abraxas was well aware that this would not end well and cursed himself for getting caught. He would not be in this mess if he had been more careful. All it would have taken was an _Obliviate_ and then a few healing spells to make it look as if the event had never occurred.

Albus drew a deep breath, wishing that he did not have to hand down this punishment. It was a horrible thing to expel a child from school, but it was even more devastating to attack and severely injure another student.

He had been hoping that these three would look past the beliefs of their parents, but apparently it would not happen. He almost felt as if he were condemning them to a life of horror.

Albus mentally shook his head. No, he knew that it was not the case. They were old enough to understand the consequences of their actions. He sighed.

"There is no minor punishment that I can give for such a grievous offence," he said wearily, eyeing the trio slumped in the armchairs. They all had their heads bowed, as if they truly regretted their actions.

However, he knew that it was not the case. He could feel their malice for the small child from here.

"There shall be no points taken, no detentions served. I had hoped that you would regret your actions, but I see nothing but hatred for a child who had done you no harm."

Severus glowered at the three, outraged and embarrassed that members of his own house would resort to such violence towards a child who had not even been attending school a week.

"The only action that I can take is to expel all three of you. Perhaps, in time you will realize the true gravity of your crime," he stated, popping yet another lemon drop into his mouth.

"Professor Snape will escort you to the dormitory to pack your things. You will be escorted back here once you are done to turn in your wands, and then you will be taken to Hogsmeade to await the morning train."

With that said Albus stood and made his way to a hidden doorway, directly next to his desk, dreading the missives he would have to write to Ollivander, requesting him to come and formally snap the wands, and to the boys' families.

Albus didn't even want to consider the Howlers he would receive, once the public became aware of the news. The Malfoys, especially, would be beyond angry at the dismissal of the students.

Sometimes he would rather be somewhere far away than here, as the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

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By breakfast, the entire student body knew of the attack and the immediate expulsion of Slytherins' 'finest' students. The noise in the Great Hall was at a roar as everyone speculated as to why the three had harmed little Harry Potter.

The majority of the students expressed outrage and disbelief, while a select few wondered at the weakness of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Amongst the Slytherins, there were dark mutters of the unfairness of the expulsion and the correct methods needed to finish off the first year.

Several thought of house unity, but only a few of the entire school population actually wondered how Harry Potter was recovering, and they would be the only ones to visit.

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Over the course of his, admittedly short, childhood, what with his uncle and all, Harry had been injured quite a few times.

He had become used to blacking out from a variety of injuries and waking up to intense pain in either the dim musty interior of his cupboard or the damp, moldy cellar.

Any injuries, or any illnesses for that matter, had never been treated by a doctor, let alone his relatives. Aunt Petunia's only restriction concerning Uncle Vernon's treatment of him was that there be no broken bones.

Uncle Vernon had obeyed, not wanting anyone to notice the mistreatment of his nephew, and had only injured him where no one could see. Vernon had ensured that the most painful injuries he received were vicious bruises or welts that refused to fade for weeks.

Therefore, it was with surprise that Harry awoke late in the afternoon, once again in the Infirmary. Although he had only visited before, he was already familiar with the cracked ceiling above him, and the sterile smell of the ward.

Squinting at the blurry room, Harry carefully sat up in bed, marveling at the fact that he barely felt any pain. A quick glance around revealed his glasses on a nearby table. Putting them on, Harry was surprised to note that the Infirmary was completely empty.

He strained his ears, but he could hear nothing but his own soft breathing. Harry quickly decided that even though Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight it wouldn't be wise to leave the bed until he had her express permission.

He chose, instead, to admire the golden sunlight streaming in through the expansive windows. As he sat there, however, he couldn't help recalling the attack last night. Harry wondered why three students he hadn't even met chose to hurt him in such a manner.

He wasn't particularly upset that they had hurt him, since it happened at home all the time. It was just the fact that they didn't even know him. Harry bit his lip at a sudden thought.

What if they did know? What if something in his very nature let everyone know what he was and why he deserved to be punished?

His aunt and uncle did say that he was a freak, after all. Maybe everyone could see that by just looking at him. Harry sighed and was wondering whether he should paint a giant target on his forehead when the door creaked open.

Startled, Harry's green eyes focused on the intruder as he slipped into the quiet Infirmary and carefully shut the door. His eyes widened when he realized that it was Draco Malfoy, the prince of Slytherin, who had deigned to visit him.

Draco's grey eyes scanned the room nervously before locking onto his year mate. Quickly, he strode over to the bed and sat down on the edge, bouncing slightly as he settled into a comfortable position.

Not exactly sure what to do in this particular situation, Harry eyed the boy warily as he shrugged off his shoulder bag and dropped it on the bed.

"Potter," the other boy said quietly, the word sounding like an explosion in the tense silence. "I came to see how you were getting on."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. Well, this was new. "But why?" he asked hesitantly. "You don't even know me. Or like me for that matter," he pointed out reasonably.

Draco absently pulled a loose thread off his robe as he formulated an answer. "True," he agreed. "It's just…It's pretty awful what my cousin and his friends did."

Harry tilted his head to the side as he regarded the other boy. "It wasn't that bad."

Draco blinked at his year mate's matter of fact statement. "You're joking, right?" he exclaimed. Harry shook his head. "They beat you up and put you in the Infirmary!"

"And?"

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his platinum blonde hair. "Look, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry it happened, and I brought your homework from class." Digging through his shoulder bag, Draco dug out two thick textbooks, some parchment, and quills.

Harry reached over and grabbed the heavier textbook. His eyebrows rose when he realized that it was a Potions Compendium.

This would be an extremely useful book; he wondered why it was not on the required book list. "Where did you get this book?" he asked, absently flipping through the pages.

"My father bought it for me last year after I told him I want to be a Potions Master when I grow up."

Harry paused on a page about a quarter of the way through the book. The illustration on the page drew his eye, and he stared for a moment, while Draco flipped open the standard textbook and rambled on.

"Potter!" Harry looked up, eyebrow raised in question. Draco gave him a glare, before snatching the compendium and shoving several sheets of parchments into his year mate's hands. "Would you focus on the here and now?"

Harry flipped through the copious notes and then abruptly paled when he realized that he did not understand a single word.

He had thought that he would have a difficult time of it at the beginning, but to not even understand the basic concepts was mortifying, to say the least. "Are these just from class today?" he asked, not looking the other boy in the eye.

Draco gave a frustrated sigh. "Of course they are, unless you thought classes started during the summer?"

Harry frowned and tried to understand the first page. He felt like a complete idiot. He'd thought that when he moved to this strange new world everything in his life would suddenly make sense.

However, it was the complete opposite, and he wondered if maybe it would have been a better idea to stay in the Muggle world.

He'd been looking forward to Potions, thinking that it would be somewhat similar to his primary school science class, but the notes were so full of technical terms that he couldn't even make sense of the first paragraph.

"Why are you helping me?" Harry asked suddenly, wondering what exactly the other boy wanted from him. He may have felt guilty for what his cousin did, and that excused the visit, but why was he helping him with schoolwork? It made no sense.

"Professor Snape assigned me as your partner," Draco stated, absently reading a page in the Potions textbook. "Since I've been having lessons since I was eight, and he thought it would be easier if I tutored you."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "So, he thinks I'm stupid."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, he realizes that you were raised as Muggle, and that you know absolutely nothing about potions basics."

"I don't need your help. I can do it on my own."

"I'm sure you can," Draco drawled. "Since you were obviously raised in the wizarding world. And I'll even let you do it all on your own if you can tell me the properties of belladonna, and what potions it's used in."

Harry gave him an incredulous look. He didn't even know what that ingredient was! With a sigh, he began to flip through the compendium.

"Ah, without looking."

"How am I supposed to know that!?" Harry snapped. "I haven't been here long enough to know that by memory!"

"Precisely," Draco stated. "Now let's get started. I don't want to be here all night doing this assignment. I do have a life you know."

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

After an intense study session with Draco, in which the very basics of potion making were drilled into his head, Harry was forced to suffer through yet another diagnostic scan. Madam Pomfrey hovered over him for a full twenty minutes, before she finally announced that he was well on his way to being healed.

After she left, Harry finally received a chance to relax. He dug out a book on Wizarding History, thoughtfully left by Draco, who declared that he was vastly uneducated, and managed to get through a few chapters before he was interrupted by a visitor.

Surprisingly, it was Professor McGonagall, who somehow managed to look out of place in the bright Infirmary with her severe countenance and dress. She spent a good half hour by his bedside, regaling him with humorous stories of his parents.

So far he had only heard that he looked exactly like his father and that he had his mother's eyes. It was pleasant to hear more about them. He heard about their favorite classes, he apparently shared his mother's skill at Charms, and how they fought with one another until seventh year.

The professor stated that over the summer his father apparently matured, and his mother definitely took notice. His father proposed on Valentine's Day in a ridiculous manner that his professor described in excruciating detail. Harry laughed so hard that he nearly fell out of bed.

By the time the professor left, Harry was nearly glowing with happiness, even more so when she gave him a small picture of his parents before she left.

Throughout the rest of the evening, many of the professors visited. The most surprising visit of all, however, had to be the one by Professor Trelawney, the Divination professor.

She'd swept in, her numerous ratty shawls trailing behind her, smothered in the smell of cooking sherry. Harry had been given a moment to process the unusual sight, before she introduced herself and promptly predicted his unfortunate death.

_Flashback_

"_Ah, my poor child. I see much misfortune in your near future," Trelawney breathed, eyes wide behind her large round spectacles. _

_Sitting back against the headboard, arms around his knees, Harry regarded the odd woman warily. He had no idea who this supposed professor thought she was, but she was really creeping him out. _

"_You must have been born in midwinter," she whispered, gazing at his pale face with an intensity that disturbed him. _

_Harry blinked. "No, I was born in the summer," he said frankly, wanting this woman to leave as soon as possible. Hopefully, if he discouraged her interest then she would flee back to whatever hole she crawled out of. _

_The professor drew back slightly at the bald statement, but quickly recovered and grabbed his hands. It was at that point that Harry decided he had put up with enough. _

_With a wild desperate kick, one that caught the professor squarely on the chin, he scrambled out of her hold and slid underneath the bed. _

_From his hidden spot, Harry watched the professor, ensuring that she stayed on the floor where she had ungracefully landed. Thankfully, he was saved from having to possibly deal with the woman when Madam Pomfrey reentered the ward._

_He didn't come out from under the bed until the professor had been forcefully ejected from the Infirmary. _

_End Flashback_

As Harry lay in bed, pleasantly tired after his constant stream of visitors, he stared at the picture of his parents. In it they were laughing; his Dad twirling his Mum around in the snow.

It was a truly happy picture, and Harry wished that he had gotten the chance to know them. When Madam Pomfrey extinguished all the lights, Harry gingerly placed the picture on the nightstand, shortly followed by his glasses.

For a long time he stared at the ceiling in the darkness, ignoring the aches in his body as the wounds slowly healed. As he lay there, he thought of all the visitors he had received, only to realize that someone very important had not deigned to make an appearance.

Professor Snape, his Head of House, had not come to visit, and with that realization Harry felt a curious sense of disappointment.

Unnoticed, a tall figure stood in the deepest shadows of the Infirmary. It was not until Harry was fully asleep that the figure left, making sure to close the door softly on his way out, so as not to wake his young charge.

End of Chapter 6! Please review, especially since this chapter was incredibly long!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own HP!

Chapter 7

It was entirely too early in the morning. The entire student body was fast asleep, as well as a majority of the staff. Severus fervently wished that he could be in the same place as well.

It was currently Saturday morning, the time when everyone was entitled to a bit of a lie in, except, it seemed, for him. It had been two days since the attack upon his student, and the boy had finally been released from the Infirmary last night.

Given the all clear by Madam Pomfrey, Potter was due for a private lesson this morning with Prefect Flint, in order to help him catch up with his year mates. Naturally, Severus was required to attend after the despicable assault. He had nearly killed the headmaster when the old coot had informed him of this new precaution.

Severus was sure that it was just a conspiracy to deprive him of sleep. Reluctantly dragging on his work robes, he despised wearing them on a Saturday; Severus strode into his sitting room and called for Tipsy, his personal house elf.

After several years of experience and many threats of being used for potions ingredients, the elf popped in moments later with his favorite breakfast. Twenty minutes later, he swept out of his private quarters and headed towards an unused classroom by the Great Hall, rejuvenated by the several cups of hot tea he had forced down his throat.

Fortunately, both boys were already there, the younger still half-asleep from the looks of it. Severus felt a sneer forming as he surveyed the mussed hair, wrinkled robes, and undone tie through the open door of the classroom.

Well, this atrocity would have to be fixed, immediately. He swept into the room, ensuring that the door slammed shut behind him with a subtle flick of his wand. Predictably, Potter jumped, startled by the sudden noise, while Flint stared at him with hooded eyes, having spotted him the moment he appeared in the doorway.

"Five points from Slytherin for your complete inability to get dressed properly," he drawled, automatically feeling better as he found something else on which to focus his early morning ire.

Flint gaped at this unprecedented event, too shocked at his Head of House's action to even care that his mouth was gaping open. Harry just stared at the ground, his face bright red in his embarrassment.

Harry thought of telling his irate professor the exact reason his general appearance was horrible, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he would not be believed. It wasn't his fault, really, that he'd returned from his sojourn in the Infirmary to find that all of his brand new uniforms had been destroyed.

In fact, Blaise Zabini had happily informed him that they had been destroyed in an 'experiment.' Between bouts of barely suppressed snickers, he had helpfully informed Harry that the remains were on his pillow.

Sure enough, right in the center had been a small pile of ash. It had only been because of Draco Malfoy, who was still acting nice, that he even had anything to wear at all.

Draco had haughtily informed him that he had an extra set of robes that Madam Malkin had made incorrectly, and had promptly shoved them into Harry's arms, ignoring the look of disbelief.

Granted, they came from the bottom of his trunk and were horribly wrinkled, but Harry was grateful. He was startled out of his thoughts by the sudden appearance of Professor Snape's nose less than an inch from his face.

Harry blinked and then abruptly went cross-eyed as he tried to determine how many times the nose had been broken to make it that crooked.

"Are you listening, Potter?" Harry blinked. "No, sir." There was an abrupt, tense silence after those two words, in which Harry cringed, Flint stared at the boy as one would a train wreck, and Severus blinked in pure astonishment.

"Detention Potter," he said frostily, drawing himself up even more, an intimidation factor that was usually quite effective. Harry blanched, almost all color bleeding out of his already pale face, and made his too green eyes seem even brighter.

At seeing the reaction, Severus cursed himself and gestured for the boy to take a seat at one of the desks, littered with dust and cobwebs. Severus idly noticed that he did do with nary a grimace for the tarnished desk.

Most unusual, that. Most wizards his age, especially purebloods, were obsessive about anything that could potentially damage their clothes. Severus frowned as he noticed the quality of the fabric.

Potter, if he remembered correctly, had come with standard fabric that most wizarding children chose, since it tended to withstand many of the magical accidents that occurred while at school.

Today, however, he noticed that Potter was wearing one of the pricier fabrics, which had many protective spells woven in. He scowled. Either the boy had stolen someone else's robe, or he had finally made a friend.

Well, he'd find out sooner or latter, the former being the most likely to occur. Frowning, Severus took a moment to give Potter time to regain his composure. He reminded himself that while he couldn't coddle the boy, he couldn't be too harsh either.

"Now, Mr. Potter. Since you have already missed the vital lessons upon which the rest of your education is founded, Mr. Flint will help you catch up to your classmates. Not that is should take much effort," he sneered, envisioning this year's set of dunderheads.

"You will be respectful during this lesson. If you have any questions that Mr. Flint cannot answer, I shall be at the front marking essays. Any mishaps on your part and you will be in detention for a week."

With that final warning, he swept to the front of the room and gracefully sat down, taking out a packet of essays from his robes. Behind him, he heard Flint clear his throat awkwardly before launching into the boy's lesson.

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

So far, it had been a difficult morning. Prefect Flint had forced him to try every spell the first years had learned so far, there were a surprising number, all to no avail.

Harry had almost come to tears when they had reached the end of the list and he still had not cast any magic. It had taken assistance from Professor Snape to realize what he needed to do.

_Flashback_

"_Why don't you try it again, Potter," Flint said wearily, chin in hand, as he tried not to fall over in complete exhaustion. After demonstrating each spell countless times, he felt stretched completely thin. He didn't know how the professors did it, using so much magic every day. _

"_I don't see why, it's not as if anything's going to happen," Harry mumbled, head buried in his arms. He was tired and he really didn't want to do this anymore. It was pointless. _

_Obviously, he wasn't meant to do magic, and they would probably send him back home to the cupboard and his uncle. _

"_The point, you idiot child, is to become a wizard" Snape hissed, standing up from his desk in a quick movement that nearly made Harry fall over in fright._

"_Otherwise, you shall be completely worthless," he growled as he moved to stand directly in front of his pupil. He couldn't believe the arrogance of the little prat, wanting to give up so quickly._

_He was practically itching to smack some sense into the boy. Flint watched the confrontation stoically, not even moving his head as he watched the pair. He was ready to beat some common sense into the professor if necessary. _

_Just when the man seemed to be able to put the past behind him, his temper took control and made it impossible for him to think logically. _

"_Just like your worthless father," Snape spat. Harry's head shot up in indignation at that point and he glared at his teacher angrily._

_He put up with many things in his life, but he refused to stand for anything being said against his long dead father. "My father was not worthless," he said defiantly, hands clenched into fists._

"_That's what you may believe, boy," Snape drawled, something deep down inside of him celebrating with glee as he watched the boy wince._

"_Contrary to your fairy tale ideal of your father, he was a worthless wizard who died because he was too arrogant to keep himself out of a Dark wizard's way."_

"_My father was not arrogant!" Harry shot back, jumping out of his seat in a flash. Trembling slightly, he stood before the older wizard and gazed up for what seemed like miles into the other's eyes. _

_He'd never really stood up to his aunt or uncle this way, and it was more than a little frightening. However, he wasn't going to let someone talk about his parents that way, especially in this new wonderful world in which everything needed to as perfect as possible. _

_Snape sneered at the boy, remembering a very similar tone from his father years ago. He was about to give a very scathing response that would have left the boys in tears when Flint intervened. _

"_Sir," he cautioned in an even tone, reminding Snape that he had been trying to make a point before the argument. He took a deep calming breath._

"_When you cast, you need to direct the flow of your magic from your core to your wand. Meditation to find the core would be a beneficial step," he said curtly, then stalked back to seat and sat down with a glare so powerful that Harry actually shivered._

"_Well then, Potter," Flint said, sinking to the floor in a pose that Harry had once seen people do on the telly. "Sit down and cross your legs like then and then close your eyes…"_

_End Flashback_

Harry bit his lip as he walked towards the Great Hall for lunch. The professor had been horribly unfair during the lesson, but his suggestion had helped greatly.

_Flashback_

_When Harry reached deep down inside himself in an attempt to find his magical core, he discovered the natural lines of magic that ran through his body. They were inordinately beautiful, beautiful swirls of color that ran through the major parts of his body._

_It took only a swift investigation of his right hand to find that the channel was partially blocked, most likely from the strain of being injured so many times in such a short period._

_With extensive guidance from Prefect Flint Harry began to use tendrils of magic to coax the channel back open. It was difficult work, persuading his magical core to release small parts of itself to heal a portion of his body. From there he convinced the magic to freely run through that channel once more._

_When he finally came out of his meditative state, he discovered that he had been sitting there for nearly an hour. Slowly, he stood up, wincing when several of his bones popped and his muscles screamed in pain._

_Feeling the hard gaze of his Head of House, Harry stood straight and assumed a stoic mask. He would prove that he belonged here, no matter what._

"_Well, Potter. Let's see if we can finally get down to business," Flint stated, his body wracked with exhaustion. He was definitely collapsing into bed after this lesson. Never again would he do something this taxing on a Saturday of all days._

_Feeling a flush of guilt at taking so long, Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but quickly closed it when he noticed the narrowed eyes. Grasping his wand, Harry nodded and waited for instructions._

_Later…_

"_Incendio," Harry dutifully repeated, once again flicking his wand in the prescribed manner._

_A grin appeared on his small, pale face when he was rewarded with a small flame. It had taken him a half hour to achieve that spell, but it was a start._

"_Finally," Flint breathed. Tilting his dark head, he thought for a moment and then nodded. "Let's try another one; Wingardium Leviosa." _

_A quick flick of the wrist later, he had all of the wand movements memorized by now, a quick muttered incantation, and a stray quill on his desk floated into the air. Harry grinned in happiness, as he realized that he could cast spells. _

_It was exhilarating, finally knowing that he was a true wizard. He let the quill float lazily in the air for a few moments before releasing the spell and turning towards the older wizards._

_Prefect Flint showed no emotion, as usual, but there was a small smirk present that convinced Harry of his pride, or relief at finally getting it done._

_Professor Snape, on the other hand, was also being stoic, but Harry could see no break in the mask. He wondered if the professor was still angry. "It's about time, Mr. Potter," came the silky voice._

"_I was beginning to wonder if any of us would have the opportunity to eat." Harry blinked and then nodded carefully. "Two points from Slytherin for wasting my time. Now get out and go to lunch."_

_The door slammed open and with a quick glance at the prefect, Harry was out the door and running for the Great Hall as if a great bat was at his heels. For all he knew, one could be._

_End Flashback_

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

On Saturdays, most students took the opportunity to have a bit of a lie in, refusing to crawl out of bed until lunch.

Harry stood in the Great Hall, amazed at the large amount of students present. There had been almost none this morning, when he had eaten breakfast. The sudden change was almost startling.

Harry swallowed nervously before quickly walking over to the end of the Slytherin table. He briefly considered trying to take a few empty spots further up the table, but the glares from the students sitting in that area convinced him to sit on the very edge.

Silence reigned on that end of the table as the other students, seated about five feet away, simultaneously glared at him in an attempt to make him leave. Harry flushed and looked down at his plate, the tips of his ears red.

For several long minutes, he stared down at the table waiting until he was sure that everyone else had gotten a serving. He glanced around, waiting until everyone was too busy to notice, and reached out to snag a sandwich.

"Potter!"

Harry sighed and put his hand back down. Malfoy; he should have known. Bravely, he looked down the table at the blonde boy.

Malfoy raised a hand and beckoned him over. "I saved a seat down here."

For a long moment, Harry stared at the other in shock, bordering on hysteria, and wondered if he was joking. However, when he saw that slightly earnest expression, he realized that the other boy was serious.

Carefully, Harry stood and made his way down the table, avoiding any sudden obstacles thrown in his path. When he finally reached the empty seat, strangely right next to Malfoy, he waited for the other boy's permission before actually sitting down.

Once again, he stared at his plate waiting for the right moment to make a move for the food.

"Alright there, Potter?" Malfoy asked as he calmly wiped his hands on a cloth napkin. Harry flushed as the whispered conversations, which had slowly started back up after his appearance, disappeared entirely. "I'm fine," he muttered.

Draco raised an eyebrow. He was obviously not fine, with the way, he was clenching his robes, but he didn't want to say anything. "Alright then," he said clearly, dropping the subject.

Noticing the other boy's currently empty plate and Crabbe's ravenous glances towards the remainder of lunch, Draco glared fiercely at the heavyset boy across the table. Crabbe flushed and leaned back, getting the message quite clearly.

Reaching forward, Draco grabbed a sandwich and dropped it on Harry's plate. When the boy looked at him with surprise, wide eyes nearly taking up half his face, Draco sneered slightly. "Well, at least eat. Wouldn't want you to suddenly die at the table, it would give Slytherin a bad name."

Harry blinked and nodded carefully. "Thank you," he stated quietly. Draco nodded in return, choosing to remain slightly distant until he could convince more members of the House to leave the boy alone.

About to finally take a bite of his sandwich, Harry was interrupted by a larger Gryffindor boy with red hair.

End of Chapter 7! Please review!!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own HP!

A/N: Sorry for the super long wait! I had a major writer's block that I couldn't kick. So, I hope you enjoy the chapter and please review! 

Chapter 8

"Well, well. If it isn't Potter," the red-haired boy sneered. "What is it? Didn't want to interact with the common people? Wanted more fame?"

Draco rolled his eyes, a truly Muggle gesture, but one that was very effective. Really, he could be such an obvious idiot, especially when it came to people who had more money than his family.

"Sod off, Weasley. Just because your family doesn't have two Knuts to rub together, doesn't mean you have to come over here to drool on our money," he drawled, in a precise imitation of the potions professor.

Weasley blushed bright red, the freckles on his face almost disappearing, before scowling at the blonde haired boy. "As if I'd want to touch your dirty money!"

Draco's eyes flicked over the dirt on the boy's face, the torn and smudged robe, and the muddy shoes. "I wouldn't think you'd mind that, Weasel," he stated disdainfully. "You're practically covered in dirt."

The boy's face abruptly went purple in anger, and clenched his fists so hard that the knuckles went white.

Recognizing the signs, Harry moved off the bench and away from Weasley, making sure to drag Draco with him. Weasley was alarmingly close to throwing a punch, and Harry really didn't feel like being hit today.

Standing to the side and slightly behind Draco, he worriedly watched the irate Gryffindor, wondering when his temper would snap. Naturally, Draco decided to assist the redhead towards his breaking point.

"Kneazle got your tongue, Weasley? Or are you just too stupid to respond?"

With that taunt, Ron exploded, bringing out his wand in one quick motion that made Harry wonder if he would ever be able to use one that easily. Being a muggle born definitely had its disadvantages, most especially when he was ten years behind in common wizarding knowledge.

"Detention," drawled a very familiar voice, making Harry breath a sigh of relief as the confrontation came to a rather quick end.

"Potter and Weasley, my office tomorrow at five," the smooth voice continued without pause, making Harry wonder if he somehow wasn't cursed with ill fortune.

While Weasley stuttered in indignation and mumbled threats, Harry blinked at the complete unfairness of the situation. He hadn't done anything; just stood behind Draco as the situation escalated.

He thought briefly of protesting that he already had detention, but paused when he thought of how it would appear.

Harry wasn't going to be weak and complain about it. He belonged in this world, and the first person he was determined to convince was his overly snarky professor.

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

It was one of those rare times when the halls were empty. As it was a Saturday, most upper-year students were enjoying their freedom either out on the grounds or in their dormitories.

The first year students, however, were to attend their first flying lesson this afternoon.

"And there is no way on earth I will subject myself to that torture," Harry muttered as he plodded up yet another stairway.

There was no way he would voluntarily decide to take to the air, of all places, with only a thin wooden stick keeping him from certain death. Thankfully, his fear had given him the perfect excuse to explore the castle, and, more specifically, the Astronomy Tower.

He'd determined after a few questions to Madam Pomfrey during his sojourn in the Infirmary, that the first place he wanted to find was the tower.

According to the mediwitch, who had proved to be a complete mother hen, it offered the best view of the grounds and the surrounding countryside.

Hopefully, it would be an uplifting sight, since, at the moment, his Hogwarts career looked to be a never-ending path leading off into the darkness.

With no friends, housemates that looked rather eager to kill him, and one semi-acquaintance, Hogwarts seemed to be rather similar to his last school. The only change, really, was the addition of magic.

The feeling of doing what his family had deemed impossible and unnatural was indescribable. Truly, it was the only he reason why he was determined to stay. Anything to prove the Dursleys wrong.

Turning yet another corner, Harry followed a large hallway identical to all the previous ones he had passed through, down to torches along the stone walls and the sound of dripping water.

"I should have brought bread crumbs," Harry lamented, more than a little discouraged by the maze he found himself in. "At least then I would know for certain that I wasn't wandering in circles."

Footsteps echoing in the stillness, Harry desperately tried to recall Madam Pomfrey's precise directions. As sure as he was of his memory, Harry was beginning to doubt his location in the upper levels of the castle.

Supposedly, the entrance was hard to miss, but he had the feeling that he had definitely missed it during his wandering thoughts.

Harry paused in the middle of the hallway and thought over his rather limited options. He could, of course, stop where he was and wait for someone else to rescue him.

Honestly, as tired as he was from traipsing about the castle, this sounded like the best idea. This was the back way, however, so he would probably be long dead before anyone found him.

"And it's not like anyone here would voluntarily help me. If anything, they'd help me in the wrong direction."

This was probably his karma for something he did in a previous life. He must have been some kind of evil tyrant or drug lord to have this much ill fortune.

"Well, I guess I should at least keep moving. Hopefully, I'll run across something familiar sooner or later."

Since the only other option, really, was to attempt to use his newly discovered magic to attract attention. With his luck, however, it would be unwanted attention that would once again land him in the hospital wing.

"And I don't want to end up back there," he muttered with distaste. "All the other guys will think I'm some kind of girl."

The silence continued as Harry walked down the never-ending stone corridor, his pressed school robes a stark contrast to the eerie desolation.

Footstep after footstep echoed as he continually moved, passing the occasional side corridor or staircase. Finally, he paused to take a brief rest, sweat beading his forehand as he panted lightly for breath.

Really, walking this much was harder than he thought it would be. Sure, Harry was used to sprinting away from Dudley and his pack of bullies, but it never took that much energy to escape from them.

This power walk from hell, however, was completely different.

"I guess it really couldn't hurt to take a short break. I'm well and truly lost anyway."

Leaning back against the wall, Harry slid down to the floor, the cool stone proving to be a relief against his overheated body. Briefly, Harry resented the requirement to wear the thick robes, but squashed it in face of the fact that they were much better than his hand-me-downs.

Closing his eyes, Harry tilted his head back and imagined a bright future in which he proved to everyone his right to be a wizard.

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

"Shit!" he gasped, leaping up from his resting position to gaze franticly down the corridor. That nightmare had been most unpleasant.

Green eyes slightly moist, Harry nervously fingered his wand as he slowly recovered from the horrifying dream involving himself, his uncle, and his very tiny cupboard.

Most unpleasant in the extreme.

Taking a deep breath, Harry ran his hand through his now sweat soaked hair, and scowled in disgust when he realized how much the nightmare had actually affected him.

"Well, if this doesn't prove I'm baby, what does?" Harry snarled angrily. "Honestly, napping in the middle of the day!"

The question bounced down the hallway, and, as previously, didn't receive any type of answer. Waiting in the silence, Harry bit his lip momentarily as he realized that he had slept a good portion of the day away, judging from the sunset he could see in a nearby window.

Determined to keep going until he had found something interesting, he took a few steps forward, only to pause when he noticed an odd light shining into the hallway from an adjacent corridor.

Brow furrowed, Harry slowly stepped forward to the very edge of the corridor, leaned around, and blinked at the sight that met his eyes.

Unlike the others, this corridor seemed to pulse with silver light that was both entrancing and repulsing to his senses.

He stood for the longest time, resisting the urge to just walk down the corridor and investigate the source of this odd light. It really could be dangerous, after all.

"Maybe I should get a professor," he wondered. This was, as far as he knew, not a normal occurrence. He had not heard of any students discussing a silver corridor by the Astronomy Tower.

Harry bit his lip in indecision. He could get a professor, but if it turned out to be yet another stupid prank rather than something dangerous, then he was sure to get in trouble.

Again.

"Better see what it is for myself first," Harry reasoned, his logic honed from years of not relying on adult assistance. "I don't really need help, after all. I'm old enough to take care of it. It doesn't even look dangerous."

Of course, despite his attempt to remain brave in the face of possible danger, Harry was feeling just a little bit unsure. C'mon, he was only eleven.

Gripping his wand a little tighter than normal, he took a deep breath and stepped into the corridor.

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

The next morning….

Draco yawned as he finally crawled out of bed, eager to relive a most pressing problem. As it was almost ten everyone in the house was still asleep, especially after the happenings of the previous night.

Traditionally known as 'Welcome Night,' it was first night of the year for the newer students to prove themselves to the older members of the House.

And they had definitely proven themselves.

Completing his morning ablutions, Draco wearily padded back towards his bed to enjoy a few more minutes of relaxation before he forced himself to get up for the day.

Last night had been pure insanity. The pranks pulled by all the new Slytherins had been received well by the upper years, especially as each one had been more ingenious than the last.

Blaise's had easily been the best, naturally, since his family was full of pranksters. Draco glanced fondly at his friend, remembering the terrified shrieks of the girls when, at precisely one minute to midnight, a horde of mice appeared in their dormitory.

Thankfully, none of them had thought of hexing the mice. Instead, they had all run screaming into the Common Room and jumped onto the nearest piece of furniture.

It was a hilarious sight to see, even more so when at midnight all the mice turned into miniature pumpkins.

Draco smirked at the memory, hands folded behind his head as he stared at the dark green canopy. He almost broke out into a grin, however, when he recalled his Head of House's face when he arrived at the scene a moment later to see all the girls, who hadn't noticed the change, shrieking over pumpkins.

The moment had been priceless.

The night had ended shortly after that, with the professor's terse command to go to sleep immediately or suffer dire consequences.

And so they had, although they did with many evil mutters and threats.

Turning over, Draco gazed at Harry's closed curtains. It was completely odd…Not only had Harry completely missed their flying lessons yesterday, but he had skipped the entertainment last night.

Truth be told, he hadn't worried when he didn't appear for the lesson, since he knew that they boy had never even touched a broomstick, let alone drooled over being allowed to finally fly one.

Last night, he had decided that Harry was most likely sleeping in bed, rather than suffer through the ill attentions of a few of the older students.

But after the entertainment…

Draco frowned thoughtfully. He had seen Harry in bed last night, hadn't he? Scratching his nose, he thought carefully before finally shaking his head.

He couldn't recall whether or not he had seen Harry last night.

And he was pretty sure that no one had left the dorm this morning, since he would have heard the door open and shut.

Sliding out of bed, he took a moment to straighten his rather expensive silk pajamas, only the best for a Malfoy, before walking over to the closed curtains.

Hesitating a moment, he finally reached out and snatched the curtains open. He stood a moment; trying to understand why exactly the bed was exactly the same it was when Harry had thrown a few books on it directly after lunch yesterday, before rushing out the door.

Professor Snape had to know of this immediately.

End of Chapter 8!

Please review! Feedback is extremely welcome and appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own HP!

Chapter 9

"Well, as if you couldn't get anymore idiotic, you go and do something like this," Lucius drawled, his words sending constant chills through his nephew's spine. Although it hadn't been that long since his expulsion, Abraxas had lost much of the arrogant demeanor that had sustained him through life and it showed. 

Then again, with the entirety of his uncle's wrath focused solely on him, his poise dropped all too quickly. Abraxas sat in one of the formal armchairs that Lucius preferred to use against both friends and enemies alike. It was one of his many subtle ways to intimidate or impress other people. 

Unlike his previous well-groomed appearance, Abraxas was ragged in every aspect, from his unkempt hair to his soiled, wrinkled formal robes. "What were you thinking, you foolish boy? You could have ruined years of hard work," the Malfoy patriarch hissed in a low voice filled with fury.

Abraxas winced and leaned back into the dark silk of the chair._ I wish I were anywhere but here, _he thought fervently_. Well, he amended; at least I'm not down there._

After leaving Hogwarts, he had run home expecting praise. He should have known that all he would receive was punishment. He had been tortured for several days by various acquaintances of his uncle. Namely, other Death Eaters eager to show off their 'skills.' 

"Thankfully, I have found a plan that will rectify your mistake. The headmaster of Durmstrang has agreed to accept you for the rest of the school year. Provided, of course, that you do not pull another idiotic stunt, nor bring your two friends with you."

If this were any other situation, this would be the point where Abraxas would loudly emphasize the unfairness of the decision. After the strong reminder of what a true Death Eater was capable of when angry, he had no such inclination. "Yes, sir," his hoarse voice replied obediently. Indeed, he was a far cry from what he had been.

"You shall leave tomorrow, and when you do you will take this," Lucius said and tossed a small black book to his nephew. "Make sure that you write in it every day," he instructed. "I do not need to remind you what another failure will cost you, do I?" Abraxas shook his head, the book clasped firmly against his chest.

"Now, get out of my sight," Lucius stated and took a quick drink of brandy, a clear sign of dismissal. Abraxas scrambled out of his seat and hurried out of the sitting room. Once out in the corridor, he couldn't hide the sigh of relief when the door slammed shut and his uncle did not appear in the hallway.

He walked to his room as quickly as possible, and did not dare to look at the book until after his door was firmly locked and warded. At first (and second) glance, it looked like any ordinary black book.

_I wonder what is so important about it_, he wondered, absently flipping through the blank pages. His curiosity grew even greater when he realized that on the inside of the front cover were the initials 'T.M.R.'

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

The next day…

The boy had finally left for Durmstrang, giving Lucius a much-needed break. Ever since the fiasco at Hogwarts, Lucius had been kept busy keeping both the Ministry and his fellow Death Eaters at bay. It hadn't helped that he was as angry as the rest, what with years of planning ruined in one stupid act.

Now, he had no one reliable at the school to report on Dumbledore's actions. It would make his plans to restore the Dark Lord ten times more difficult now that he couldn't easily have access to the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Truly, it had been all too easy with his nephew at Hogwarts. Now, he would have to find someone else to do his bidding. Too bad it couldn't be Draco, but Lucius refused to risk his only heir in this nasty business.

Lucius snapped his fingers imperiously. Instantly, a rather pitiful-looking house elf arrived, eyes wide as he waited for his master's bidding. "Fetch me some parchment and a quill," Lucius ordered. 

The house elf vanished immediately and reappeared moments later with the required items. Even before the house elf had left the room, Lucius was feverishly writing a letter to Severus Snape.

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

Meanwhile…

The search for Harry had reached epic proportions by mid-afternoon on Sunday. What had initially begun as a few Slytherins combing the dungeons for the boy had turned into a castle-wide search when even the ghosts couldn't find a trace of him. 

From the Astronomy Tower to the lake, both students and teachers alike conducted a frantic search. Most remembered the brutal attack upon Harry not so long ago, and fears of more of the same only made them double their efforts.

It wasn't until late afternoon that Harry was finally located in a small alcove hidden just a few corridors away from the Astronomy Tower. As in many instances where a person goes missing, Harry was blissfully unaware of the chaos he was causing, since he was sleeping happily in the alcove, curled up into a ball.

Upon finding the boy, Professor McGonagall immediately called off the search via a very handy communication spell, promptly woke Harry up, and proceeded to drag him directly to the Headmaster's office.

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

"Now, Harry. Could you please enlighten us as to why you chose to wander the upper reaches of the castle and fall asleep in an alcove?" Albus Dumbledore asked hands folded on his desk as he looked at the first year. To Harry, he resembled some sort of benevolent grandfather, but he knew that underneath was a man very skilled in the art of manipulation.

The outrageous robes (pale blue with shooting stars), the twinkling eyes, and the visible concern on the aged face often made many people spill their deepest darkest secrets. Harry wasn't fooled. Years of living with the Dursleys had taught him to be very perceptive in respect to what an adult really meant.

"I was looking for the Astronomy Tower," he said honestly. _Though I have no idea how I ended up in that alcove. Last thing I remember was walking into that weird corridor_, Harry thought. He chose to ignore the dark glare of Professor Snape as he let the second part of the question go unanswered.

The silence stretched. Harry found himself looking into the Headmaster's eyes as they slowly seemed to grow brighter. It made his mind feel odd, as if something was trying to push into it with a sharp needle. He quickly looked down and almost sighed in relief when the feeling subsided.

Harry continued to wait. He was very patient and it didn't bother him at all to try and outwait Dumbledore. The silence continued, interrupted every now and then by muted whispers as the paintings in the office attempted to figure out the situation. 

The entire time the Headmaster sat in his chair with his hands folded, eyes twinkling, and a gentle smile above his Santa-like beard. _Hmm…I wonder if anyone else thinks the beard reminds him or her of Santa? There should be one or two in my year that would_, Harry thought. 

Their little game would most likely have stretched on into the night if it weren't for Professor Snape. Although he was a professor, the man had shown that he had a rather impressive temper. Harry wondered how long it would take before he said something.

As a matter of fact, it didn't take very long at all. "Well, get on with it, Potter! Why were you sleeping in the alcove? Out with it!" the professor snapped. "Professor Snape," Dumbledore chided, his eyes never leaving Harry. "Though I admit I am curious, my boy." 

Ah, a gentle warning then. Harry shrugged. "I must have fallen asleep, sir." He didn't really know, but it sounded like what they would want to hear. It was always best to tell adults exactly what they wanted to hear; you avoided trouble that way. 

The headmaster gave him a long look and then brushed the matter aside. "I must insist, Harry, that you tell one of your housemates the next time you decide to explore the castle." Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Now, I do believe that it is a wonderful Sunday afternoon. I suggest that you take a tour of the grounds. Weather like this won't last for long!" "Yes, sir," Harry stated and knowing he was dismissed, he left the office and headed the down the staircase.

Professor Snape watched the boy go and nearly snorted in disbelief. He skipped a lesson and got lost in the castle, prompting a massive search, and he got no punishment? What was the world coming to? Granted, the boy was a Slytherin, and he hated for those of his house to get in trouble, but he was Harry James Potter as well.

It looked as if the old coot was overlooking the Slytherin aspect of the boy, and was instead not punishing him because of his long-dead parents, Lily and James. He scowled at the Headmaster.

"Yes, I know Severus; however, I can't really punish the boy. It was, after all, not a true lesson, just an optional one. You know as well as I do that not everyone takes to the notion of flying," Albus mildly remarked, looking over the rim of his glasses at the younger professor.

Severus flushed. He had always hated flying. "I'm more concerned with the strange magic I felt on the boy. It reminded me of the more ancient wards in the castle."

"He wasn't telling the whole truth," Severus pointed out. "Yes, it seems Harry is a little more Slytherin than you thought," Albus stated. Severus scowled, remembering the night of the Sorting when he had loudly protested the boy's admittance into his house.

"Now, you do have a detention with Harry this evening, do you not?" Severus blinked and then smirked evilly as he recalled that Potter did, in fact, have a detention with him. Perfect…

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

Later That Day… 

The door slammed shut with a finality that made Harry want to slam his head into a wall. With a large amount effort, he managed to not turn and watch as death personified approached. In the desk next to him, Weasley attempted to look stoic, but his obvious fear of the professor made his attempts laughable at best 

"For your detention," Professor Snape hissed as he stopped and turned at the front of the aisle, his robes billowing out behind him dramatically. Harry resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. That would not go over well.

"You will both scrub all of my cauldrons without magic." He glared at the two boys, fury present in every line of his face. Harry blinked. _Well, I wasn't expecting something that easy_, he admitted. _That's way easier than anything the Dursleys gave me_.

He paused, a trickle of unease running down his spine. _Maybe it's a trick. He could be doing what Uncle Vernon always does; giving me something that's supposed to be easy, but that has a lot of tricky rules_.

Harry thought about asking if there were any rules to this detention when he noticed Weasley's reddening face. This ought to be good…His inner Slytherin cackled evilly. He should most definitely wait. It wouldn't do to miss a good show.

"That's not fair!" Ron Weasley exclaimed. "That'll take hours!" Professor Snape's face darkened as his temper reached new heights. "It will take even longer if you continue in this manner, Mr. Weasley," he warned, giving the boy the perfect opportunity to back off. Unfortunately, Weasley did not take it. 

As he began to open his mouth again, Harry's inner Gryffindor came forward and urged him to help the boy. Thankfully, he was immediately gagged and shoved to the back of Harry's mind by his inner Slytherin before he did something stupid.

"It's not even my fault!" Ron yelled. "I'm only here because of Potter!" Professor Snape's scowl deepened, if that was even possible, and Harry discreetly scooted his chair back as the man stalked forward. 

Snape leaned forward until his face was inches away from Weasley. "I do not care what you think, Weasley. You are here until I say you can leave. Say one more word and you shall be scrubbing the stone floor with a toothbrush!"

"But…"

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

Three Hours Later…

Harry sighed as he trudged into the Slytherin Common Room. That detention had been a piece of cake. Not only had he been given an easy task, but also Weasley had spent the majority of the detention on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor.

It had been a satisfying sight…

He ignored the older students' taunts as he entered the first year dormitory. The only thing off about the detention had been Snape's attempts to find out the why he had skipped the lesson and what had happened while he was missing.

Thankfully, the man had gotten nowhere. His tactics had ranged from trying to provoke him into a rage to constantly hovering over him. A few times Harry had even felt the same odd push into his mind, but only when he made eye contact.

Extremely odd…

Without saying a word to the other boys, Harry pulled on his pajamas and crawled into bed. He pulled the covers over his head and within minutes was fast asleep. He missed the pitying look Draco gave him from his own bed.

From across the room, Zabini looked at the closed curtains before shaking his head. He turned to crawl into his own bed, but paused when he noticed something odd. "Hey," he called to Draco. "Has that painting always been there?"

Draco frowned and studied the small painting next to Potter's bed. "No, I don't think so. Wonder what it is?"

Zabini shrugged. "Who knows?" He crawled under the covers and snapped his curtains shut. Minutes later, Draco did the same and the lights went off as the castle realized that they were all set to sleep.

He'd worry about the mysterious painting later. Perhaps Potter knew what it was.

End of Chapter 9! Please review!!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own HP.

Chapter 10

Harry was of the opinion that Hogwarts was really a front for a loony bin. After all, what could explain having a ghost for a teacher? The first lesson with Professor Binns had been a vast waste of time, especially after finding out from the older students that the Goblin Wars, while only lasting a few years, were the only topic the entire seven years. The only way to pass the upper level tests, he'd heard, was to just read the textbook. Repeatedly.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, or DADA for the lazy, of which he was definitely one, was a disappointment. Hearing the tales told by Theodore Nott, or "please call me Teddy," and Blaise Harry had expected a professor with a no-nonsense attitude and a vast amount of knowledge when it came to hexes. At least he wasn't the only ones disappointed. Harry was amused to see the letters of complaint flying home to their parents the evening of the lesson. He couldn't blame them though. A stuttering fool of a professor that reeked of garlic wasn't really awe inspiring. Or even a nod at mediocrity.

And Harry wasn't even about to go on about that Divination professor. Seeing her was creepy enough. He didn't need to think about her as well.

All in all, with the mad Headmaster, and he had to be mad with the getups he wore, and the others, Harry wasn't all too impressed with the 'veritable institution.' In fact, he would be wondering if he could get his money back if it wasn't for the library. With everything he had seen so far, Harry hadn't been expecting much when it came to the library, but in fact he was pleasantly surprised.

Rows upon rows of books in what seemed to be an endless room. It was completely wicked and Harry knew he was home the minute he walked in. Libraries in primary school had always been a source of comfort, especially since he could often escape his vicious cousin and his cronies during recess. After he'd sucked up to the librarians, they had been all too happy to have him whenever he felt like coming in. It really had been a lifesaver.

And he was determined that Hogwarts would be much of the same. The first excursion had included a visit with Madam Pince; a pinch-faced woman who looked as if she would rather garrote a student then let him took her precious books. A long conversation later and Madam Pince was all too happy to let him visit as long as he wanted. Within reason of course and providing that the books he touched remained pristine.

Several weeks after his excursion throughout the castle and Harry had almost made his niche. His roommates hadn't tried to kill him in his sleep yet and all the older Slytherins had remained less than friendly since the 'incident.' He didn't really have friends and truth be told, he was okay with that. Really. Professor Snape had been less than hostile, which he could completely deal with. Until the man went postal, that is. Harry could tell that the moment the man finally snapped would occur sooner or later. Maybe he should give him candy or something? So that when he did finally kill a student in frustration he wouldn't kill the one who was kind to him? Hmm…worth looking into at least.

And his classes were, well, difficult, but nothing he couldn't handle with a little background information. Which was his purpose in the library this early Saturday. The rest of the school was attending the first Quidditch game of the season, and Harry had used the perfect opportunity to commandeer his favorite corner in the stacks. It was hidden from the front of the room and was set right next to the Restricted Section that he could now easily access with his new privileges from the madam. Offering to restock the shelves for the woman every now and again really did wonders.

With his complete lack of interest in flying, Harry had snuck into the stacks directly after breakfast and had been there ever since learning about the wizarding world. There were so many customs and rules that he was completely unaware of, and he didn't want to be blindsided ever again. So, it was in the middle of the _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_, Grindelwald was a fascinating man, that Harry became aware of a presence. It wasn't malevolent and it wasn't very loud, but after the staring became slightly more than annoying Harry finally had to address it.

"You know, I'm trying to read here." There, not too rude, and completely lacking in threat. Not bad. "Yes, I can see. Can you leave now? I'd like my spot." Well, so much for not being rude. Snapping the book shut, Harry looked up to see a frizzy-haired girl his age frowning at him. Behind her on the floor he could see a book bag stuffed to the brim with books and parchment. Wonderful. A bookworm.

Frowning, he carefully perused the table. "Funny, I don't see your name on it. So, since I was here first, you can just move along now." He leaned back in his chair and stared at her, waiting. The frown deepened as she thought, and he really thought she was about to either hex him or leave, when she finally grabbed her bag and plopped down in the seat right across from him. "I think we'll share."

Harry blinked in surprise. Alright, then. Moving along. Cracking his book open once again, he lost himself in the 1940s and successfully ignored her barrage of questions that began shortly after she noticed his scar. Lovely. Another fan girl in the making.

_Durmstrang…_

Abraxas hated the cold. He hated the school. He despised Victor Krum, seeker extraordinaire and apple of the headmaster's eye, and most definitely hated his roommates who knew far too many curses. He wanted to be back at Hogwarts, but he wasn't going to write home about it. His entire family was already up in arms about his failure to act like a proper Slytherin. No less than his death was going to get him out of this hellhole, so he was determined to at least act like he was older than four while stuck at this school.

However, though he couldn't write home, he could write in the strange journal that had been given to him before he left. Oddly enough, no matter how much he wrote the book never seemed to end, and though the words would sometimes stay on the page, other times the diary seemed to swallow the ink. It was decidedly strange, but since a family member had given him the journal, he was sure that it wouldn't do him any harm. After all, he was a Malfoy. And Malfoys only screwed others over, not one another.

_Privet Drive…_

The decidedly Muggle neighborhood made Severus Snape more than a little wary. Everything was just so similar from the houses, to the gardens, and even to the cars parked in the driveway. It was more than odd and Severus was sure that this complete order was more than likely the cause of the insanity in Muggles. Really, he would rather be anywhere than this waste of space, but a home visit had been required after Potter's visit to the infirmary. He could have been enjoying a nice glass of Firewhiskey with a rather good novel, but instead he would be interviewing Lily's sister and her odious husband. A task he would rather pass up. Really, he should have never agreed to teach. It would have saved him so many unpleasant tasks.

End Chapter. Please review. Next update will follow soon.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own HP.

AN: Because of the long time between updates, mistakes are more than likely going to be made. Also, I forgot where I was going with the plot, so I'll be winging it for a bit until I remember. This will also account for the writing style and the continued short chapters. I will attempt to make them longer as I go, but since I am in the last semester of my degree, it will be a tad difficult. So, enjoy it or hate it if you want. If you must flame, so be it, but please constructive flaming only.

Chapter 11

"Can I help you?" The pretentious tone of the clearly anorexic woman at the door immediately set his teeth on edge. With her perfectly overly dyed blonde hair and her expensive dress underneath a freshly pressed apron, she appeared to be the perfect housewife. To Severus, used to the often illogical wizarding world, this sense of total order was nauseating.

"Yes, Mrs. Dursley?" he inquired, resisting the urge to adjust the tailored dress pants and shirt, black of course, that clung to him quite closely. "I am Professor Severus Snape at your nephew's school. I believe you received my owl?" The door slammed in his face. Severus arched an eyebrow, surprised at the action. He had expected a much warmer welcome for the 'famous' Harry Potter, but he had been denied even that. Well, this meeting was going to occur one way or another, whether the woman liked it or not.

A quick wordless spell let him in the door and had it closing silently behind him. Instead of immediately searching the woman out to continue the confrontation, who by the sound of it was in the kitchen, he took a moment to inspect the home of the Boy Wonder. As with Mrs. Dursley, or Petunia as his childhood memories recalled, the house was spotlessly clean. Ugly matching furniture with floral patterns decorated the nearby parlor and pictures of the family littered the walls.

Unlike wizarding portraits, which often portrayed a small entirely interactive memory of the occupant, Muggle portraits were motionless and entirely boring. Severus stepped closer to get a better look; at this point he was in no hurry to subject himself to the vitriol of the woman once again. Each portrait was eerily similar. Either alone, or in a group, the occupants posed in a formal manner that reminded Severus of a pathetic attempt to resemble the nobility. It was pathetic in that the occupants strongly resembled a whale, a walrus, and a giraffe.

_That resembles the beginning of a very bad joke_, he mused absently. _Or a very good one depending on the punch line. _Curious, he reached up to finger the edge of a portrait. A few flakes immediately fell off at the touch, revealing the cheap frame underneath. Except, of course, that this is no joke. Obviously middle class with ambitions far beyond their reach. Crass manners, as evidenced by the display earlier, and not a single sign of the Boy-Who-Lived in the house. Even thinking of the ridiculous moniker bestowed by the public made a sneer appear on his lips.

Something, he mused, was not quite right. It was up to him to discover exactly was not as it appeared to be in this household. Drawing himself up to his full height, Severus stepped into the brightly lit kitchen. "You! What are you still doing in my house?"

_Hogwarts._

_Hermione Granger was a complete nutcase._ After only an hour of valiantly attempting to study, while fending off her increasingly intrusive questions, Harry was finally ready to strangle himself. Or her. If she asked him _one more time_, whether or not he remembered what the killing curse felt like, he would make sure she found out for herself.

He'd taken off for the Great Hall mid-sentence, in hopes that it would deter the bookworm, so that he could wait for the arrival of the students in blessed silence. _You would think that she would be happy to have her spot back and would leave me alone, but I'm definitely not that lucky._ Instead, however, she had followed him step for step down the hallway, despite the fact that he was pretty sure his scowl was scaring even the paintings.

"Harry, wait!"

The almost desperate plea made him turn and look, despite his deep misgivings. Even with his fast pace, Harry saw that she was only a few meters behind him, frantically trying to keep up with him. Harry sighed. _No matter how much I dislike her, I can't be mean. I'd be like Dudley and if there's one thing I know, it's that I don't want to end up like that bully._

He stopped and waiting, idly tapping his foot as he waited for the bushy-haired girl. Thankfully, within seconds, she had caught up to him, and while she was attempting to breathe once again, Harry relieved her of the insanely heavy book bag.

_Oh, thank goodness. I can breathe…and…did he just take my bag?_ Hermione had found it difficult to keep up with the boy, but she'd done it out of stubbornness, like she tended to do so many things in life. She had even been prepared to carry the bag with her, since no one had ever offered to help her carry anything. So, it was shocking that he had taken it.

Hermione looked up, finally able to slow her breathing, and saw the edge of his robes just disappearing around the Great Hall door. "Harry! Wait up! I have more questions!" Since he had her bag and all, she might as well use it to her good advantage.

Once in the Hall, she headed straight for the lone boy sitting at the Slytherin table. Bravely, she went to sit down across from him, only to receive a very nasty glare. Now, Hermione wasn't the brightest bulb in the box when it came to social cues, but she was pretty certain that Harry Potter was one step away from murder.

He is awfully moody, she thought. Completely different than what the books said. Maybe I'll just bother him later…Grabbing the strap of her bag, that had conveniently been left in the middle of the aisle; Hermione beat a quick retreat to the Gryffindor table and seated herself at the end.

It wasn't more than ten minutes later when the entire student body arrived in the Great Hall, eager for lunch after the exciting match. Harry gave a small sigh as the other first years gathered around him, a few giving nods while others shot him disdainful looks. As per the headmaster's advice, he chose to ignore the upper years. They were apparently all being monitored now and he had no further reason to worry. Whatever. He'd believe that when they had all graduated.

"Missed a good game, Potter," Draco remarked, his pale blonde hair and silver eyes gleaming in the sunlight from the ceiling.

"Really?"

"Yes, I can see why you chose not to come, however. The realization that you would never even be able to come close to that sort of skill must have been intimidating," Draco prattled.

Harry chose to just nod and smile. Draco wasn't bad, for a pureblood and all, but if he got on the right subject he could talk forever. It was easier just to smile and nod. Passive aggressive all the way and all that.

Most of lunch was spent that way as his picked and chose from a variety of platters. No matter how plentiful food was, there was no way that he would become like Crabbe and Goyle. Did they even chew?

It wasn't until the end that a certain question gave a whole new interesting turn to Harry's day. In quintessential Malfoy discretion, Draco, at the end of the feast, took not of an important absentee at lunch.

"Hey, where's Professor Snape?"

_Where indeed_, thought Harry.

_Privet Drive._

"Well," Severus drawled, highly amused at the sight before him. It wasn't often that he was allowed to do a good bit of Muggle torturing and he fully intended to draw this out as much as possible. "Now that you have calmed down, shall we continue?"

The woman, outraged, struggled once more against her invisible bonds that bound her to the kitchen chair. When no give was to be found, she slumped against the back, seething.

Ah, those were the days. Severus reminisced. Curse a Muggle here. A Muggle there. What a shame those days are gone. He'd so rarely participated in such pastimes, of course, but when he had the adrenaline rush had been unforgettable.

"Just tell me what you want and get out freak!" she hissed, blue eyes flashing.

Severus leaned back in his chair, purposefully shifting and settling to emphasize how comfortable he was in comparison to the woman across from him. "Gladly," he agreed. "I would like to discuss your nephew and some_ inconsistencies_ found in his medical report."

Petunia snarled and bared her teeth at the mention of her nephew. The abominable waste of space. "I do not have to discuss anything with you! Especially about that freak."

She'd hated the burden ever since he had been left on their doorstep years ago. It had been clear to her from the method of delivery that the wizards had felt the exact same way. Why else would they drop an infant, on a cold night no less, on a doorstep in the middle of the night?

Severus arched an eyebrow, almost impressed at the amount of vitriol practically spewing from Petunia. She had always been a difficult and hateful child and apparently walking the path to adulthood had not tempered her any. "Well, if you do not wish to discuss this important matter, I have no issue waiting."

Silently, he conjured last month's Potions Journal, of which he was both author and avid reader, and a cup of black tea that absently floated in midair beside him, the steam wafting gently into the air. His dark eyes glittered in amusement as he benevolently chose to ignore Petunia's pale face at the use of magic, as well as the dratted snitches and bludgers pattern on the cup.

"I am sure your husband would not mind coming home to a full grown wizard," he pointed out. "No need to worry about any poor manners. I have heard that I am a wonderful supper guest." He found the play of emotions on Petunia's face especially amusing."

_I can't have him here when Vernon gets home! Then I'll never hear the end of it! What if the neighbors see?_ Scowling, Petunia sighed and nodded her head in what she deemed to be a dignified manner. Unfortunately, it only emphasized her strong resemblance to a horse-faced giraffe. "Fine then. Ask what you want."

Strongly resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he dealt with juveniles, he was not one, Severus began with the most pressing question. "Why is there no sign that your nephew resides in this house?"

End Chapter. Please review.


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